


Goldsmith

by z0mbieshake



Series: Toxic Affair [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obsession, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0mbieshake/pseuds/z0mbieshake
Summary: Felix wished he could say that he didn't know when this began but he knew exactly what triggered Malcolm: The day Peter was married. The day Felix broke down and realized he had no one else in this world but Malcolm. That was the first time Malcolm beat him.An alternate universe toToxic Affair, in a world where Peter does not come back for Felix and ends up marrying Wendy and someone else comes to his rescue.





	Goldsmith

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much a fanfic of a fanfic, which was already completely detached from the source material to the point where it was practically original content. And now it features an original character romance as well so really, its not even fanfic anymore. But if you were ever curious on what would happen in Toxic Affair if Peter never came back for Felix, this is it. 
> 
> The original character featured in this is based directly off [Dean Ambrose/Jon Moxley](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dean_Ambrose) who has such a striking resemblance to Stephen Lord that it pretty much inspired this whole fic. Additionally, the wrestling featured in this is inspired by Combat Zone Wrestling, a real life extreme wrestling show which Dean Ambrose/Jon Moxley participated in. 
> 
> Theme music for this fic (AKA music I listened to non-stop while writing this):
> 
>   * [One Good Piece of Me - Big Wreck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tD7-DbBrzsg)
>   * [Re:Re - Cover by Dima Lancaster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7Oy-InRMhE)
> 


A hand upon the mirror, touching the purpling flesh it reflected. Felix swallowed the dryness in his throat, unable to look away from the nauseating colours his left ribs had taken. His arms weren't much better, stained with bruises shaped like fingers. What disgusted him the most was how his face was _untouched_ , unmarred by any abuse _._ He wondered if it was easier to hide or Malcolm preferred him pretty.

_It wasn't always like this._

A ginger touch to his ribs was enough to make him reel. Felix bit down his groan, quickly looking out the door to check that Malcolm wasn't outside. It was a pointless action; Malcolm had gone out to pick up groceries and Felix _knew_ this but he still checked. Shaking his head, he held the bandage tight on his chest, winding it around himself and hissing in pain as he bound his aching ribs. He sobbed when he taped them still, dropping his hands slowly and wiping away the cold sweat on his forehead.

Felix wished he could say that he didn't know when this began but he knew exactly what triggered Malcolm: _The day Peter was married_. The day the Storybrooke papers celebrated the wedding of the youngest Darling, finding no other interesting news in the quaint, little town. The day Felix broke down and realized he had no one else in this world but Malcolm. _That was the first time Malcolm beat him_.

 

The day Felix felt like the world collapsed, Malcolm held him close and comforted him, whispering kind words into his ear, reassuring him that he wasn't alone. In that brief moment of peace, Felix felt like everything was right again. He didn't need Peter Pan anymore. He crumpled up the morning paper and threw it in the trash, laughing along as Malcolm joked about how banal and pointless the topics were in the Storybrooke paper. Everything would be _okay_.

Felix felt his fortune change when _Rufio_ showed up on his phone, "Hello?" He answered, leaning against the couch and muting the TV.

It had been years since he last spoke with Rufio, years since Peter exiled him from the Lost Boys and he moved away with his brother to New York. Felix knew why he was calling, the mental block from Pan's constant gas lighting removed. Rufio cared about him, possibly once loved him, but Peter forced Felix to cast him aside for his own selfish needs. With Malcolm as a lover and Rufio as his friend once more, Felix _knew_ he could move on from this.

"Who was that?" Malcolm asked as Felix hung up.

"Rufio," Felix replied, putting the phone away, fixing the crooked cover upon a glass lamp, "He wanted to know if I was okay. Peter getting married and all," Felix smiled softly, fingers nervously kneading against his sweater, "Would be nice to see all my friends again. No more Peter to hold me-"

Felix couldn't speak when he saw Malcolm scowl, saw his fists tightened together. He released his sweater, brow furrowed in confusion and fear, "Does he know you're seeing me?"

"N-No, I haven't spoken to him in forever," Felix replied.

"Did he ask you out?" Malcolm growled.

If Felix was aware of what would happen, if he had the knowledge of present-day Felix, his answer would have been very different, "Yes. Just as friends. You're…!" Felix's breath hitched, his whole body crumpling over when Malcolm struck him in the chest. He choked on his breath, collapsing onto the ground in shock and pain. He couldn't bear to look at Malcolm, feeling all the strength he had accumulated throughout the day fading.

Felix didn't move, not even when Malcolm marched out of the house in a huff. He fell against the side of the couch, trying to erase this moment from his memory.

_Sorry Rufio. I can't go out with you._

 

That was supposed to be the end of it. Felix cut his ties with Rufio once more just as he did before to placate Peter. This made it all better with Peter, certainly it had to work with his father. Just like before, Rufio kept trying to reach him, _kept trying to help him_. He even dragged the other Lost Boys in as well, the ones who had forgave him for breaking them apart.

All to no avail. If anything, it only made it worse.

Malcolm was always there to catch the phone call, always there to intercept, always there to eavesdrop, always there to punish Felix for _cheating on him._ Felix fought back the first few times, used everything he knew to ward him off, but Malcolm was always better, crueler, more willing to break his body, heart, and soul to keep him in line.

One night, bruised and broken, spitting out blood from when he bit his tongue, Felix sent the last of his cruel, deliberate messages to his friends to cut them off. That night, Malcolm soothed his injuries with ice and kissed him goodnight, promising to make French toast for him the next morning.

It was easier to let his friends go. It was easier to push Rufio away again. 

 

"What is this?" Malcolm said, placing Felix phone on the counter.

Felix's eyes flickered to the screen, shuddering when the preview on his lock screen revealed a text from Rufio, begging Felix to meet him somewhere. Felix had learned by now, _learned to stay quiet_.

"Why'd you start locking your phone?" Malcolm snapped to another question, taking the phone and shoving it into Felix's face, turning him away from the cutting board he was working on, "What are you trying to hide?"

Felix shook his head, eyes shut, "Nothing."

" _Nothing_? This is nothing?" Malcolm asked, calm, almost docile for just a moment. Felix knew better by now, shutting his eyes tight as Malcolm hurled his phone into the fridge, "I don't believe you!" He took Felix by the arm, agitating a bruise he had left on him the day before.

Blocking made it worse; it only prolonged the beating. Felix braced himself as a fist collided with his stomach. He choked on spittle in his throat, crumpling over against the counter but still standing, _begging_ that this was enough, that Malcolm was satisfied. He nearly screamed when an arm came around his neck, tightening around his throat, yanking him back viciously, feet sliding on the floor.

"You lying whore!" Malcolm snarled, "Shut your mouth!" He said when Felix _screamed_ in fear.

 _What was Malcolm going to do to him?_ Felix was utterly terrified, manic, and without thinking, he took the chef's knife from the cooking board and struck Malcolm in the arm. The older man backed off, staring at Felix like _he_ was the maniac.

"Put that down before you hurt yourself," Malcolm said, voice suddenly even.

Felix shook his head, unable to calm himself. The beating of his heart was almost painful as it hammered against his ribs, highlighting the pain in his gut, "Stay away from me," He choked out, unaware of how quiet his voice had become, " You'll hurt me more if I put this down," Malcolm didn't move, his expression unreadable, "Ever since Peter got married, you've been holding me hostage in here. _Beating me_ when you don't get what you want. If you're going to treat me like this, why would I stay--" Felix cut himself off, a shock to his senses when he answered his own question in his thoughts. He had nowhere left to go, no one left who would take him in, "This… this is what you did to your previous wife, wasn't it?"

A strike to his hand, the knife clattered to the floor, before Felix could even realize what had happened, he found himself striking the ground hard, pain lancing up his spine and through his skull. He gasped, Malcolm's weight on his hips as he struck his chest, his stomach, his sides, moving too fast for Felix to react. One arm was pinned under Malcolm's thigh and the other was clawing helplessly before it was ensnared by Malcolm, _twisting his fingers_ as punishment. A hand took Felix by the hair, wrestling it at a painful angle before striking it against the ground over and over _and over and over_ …

Groaning under his breath, stepping back, breaking open a can of beer and pouring it down his throat, Malcolm stepped over Felix's shivering form and placed the knife back into the knife block, "Set the table. I'll finish up in here," No response, nothing but an empty look in Felix's eyes, "Felix?"

There was nothing but throbbing pain, his body screaming for mercy, fingers unable to articulate, eyes unable to focus. The single step Malcolm took towards him made his world quake in fear. On nothing but adrenaline, Felix leapt to his feet and sprinted out the kitchen, wrestling his coat off the rack and rushing out into the winter cold.

Nothing but his jacket and a pair of running shoes, Felix ran until he thought he'd collapse, finding himself in the nearby park across from a convenience store. The pounding in his chest wouldn't leave him, that lingering fear that Malcolm would follow him and bring him back. _What was he going to do? Where would he go to hide? Was there anyone out there who'd protect him? Was there anyone out there that still cared?_

"No, no, no, no," Felix mumbled, hiding his face in his hands. The fingers on his left hand were still numb, aching from the rough manhandling. He couldn't shut them together to cover his eyes, forcing him to stare into the wintery landscape where Malcolm could appear any moment. _No, no, no_ , Felix breathed in deeply, trying desperately to calm himself. It was almost dinnertime; he was just hungry. Food first, then he'd figure out what he'd do after.

The change in his pockets wasn't enough to bus into town and eat. The best Felix could manage was a cheap sandwich from the nearby convenience store. Sitting down on a bench, Felix unwrapped his meal and took a bite from the corner. The egg salad was moist, flavourful, not as bad as Felix thought it'd be and the lettuce was somehow still crispy and bacon was tucked inside, adding another texture to an otherwise plain sandwich. If anything, it was quite enjoyable.

Back in the day, when Felix made just enough to get by, Peter would need a place to crash or study and Felix would need to serve something more substantial than instant noodles with a side of deli meat. He didn't trust his own culinary skills for good reason so he'd buy stacks of pre-made food from convenience stores or supermarkets, heating them up and serving them to Peter. They were just boring, simple sandwiches, wraps, cheap lasagnas, discount pork roasts cooked in a microwave, but somehow, Peter always made it feel like a feast. He wondered if Peter would have liked his sandwich, wondered what Peter would say if he were here, wondered what Peter would have done if he didn't choose Wendy.

A choke in his breath, he saw the tears trickle into his sandwich before he realized he was crying. _Peter hated it when he cried. So did Malcolm._ His sobs were slow, quiet, not a cry for help, just a breach of his breaking point manifesting itself in tears. He tucked his head, hiding himself despite the empty park. His appetite was dead but he forced himself to eat, devouring the last good memory he'd had in a while. Felix wanted to laugh at himself, laugh at how a stupid sandwich drove him to tears, but all he could manage sounded more like a cough than anything.

 _Food first, then he'd figure out what he'd do after._ Pockets empty, stomach sufficiently filled, Felix lay himself down on the bench, knees curled slightly, trying to capture as much warmth as he could. He breathed into his hands, folding them under his arms to keep them from going numb. The air was stiff, almost painful, and Felix could see the flutter of snowflakes high in the sky. He extended one hand out, catching a snowflake, letting the cool air soothe his aching fingers. _This wasn't so bad_.

Maybe he'd have to amputate his fingers tomorrow. Maybe he'd get hospitalized for hypothermia. Maybe he'd freeze and die tonight on a park bench. _It was alright_ , because this was the first night Felix could fall asleep without terror ravaging him with nightmares.

 

"Felix! _Oh my god…_ "

 

Too warm, body crushed under a heavy blanket, Felix already knew where he was when he saw the auburn walls. His good hand dug its fingers into the mattress when Malcolm stepped in, kind smile on his face, "You're awake," He murmured, rushing to Felix's side and putting the soup aside. He placed a hand on Felix's forehead, flesh feeling abnormally cold, "Your fever is going down."

Felix watched as Malcolm rinsed out a towel in the bathroom, refreshing it with icy water before placing it across Felix's forehead, wiping away his sweat, "When I found you, your lips were blue. I was so scared," He whispered, brows knitted, disturbed despite how undeserved his feelings were, "Do you know how long you've been out?"

Last Felix remembered, he had fallen asleep on the bench shortly after he ate dinner. He peered out the window, seeing snow accumulated on the window sill and sunlight past it.

"Hey… how is…" Malcolm spoke softly, touching the blanket and caressing Felix's body, "How are you?" Malcolm's eyes were wide, fearful, innocent, and Felix didn't know how to interpret this.

Malcolm beat him, mercilessly, but who else would give him kindness? Felix reached out with his good hand, taking Malcolm's, no smile, no eye contact, but Felix figured it was as close to an apology as he could get. A brief chuckle startled Felix. Malcolm took his hand close, warming it between his own before pressing a kiss to the back, "I'm so sorry for what I did. I love you."

In an act of naivety induced from his sickness and hopelessness, Felix took the apology at face value, took the older man into his arms, let him whisper sweet words before drifting away into a dreamless sleep, the smell of chicken noodle soup pleasant and comforting.

 

"What are you doing with that knife?"

Felix was shaking before he even spoke, "I-I-I just wanted a snack."

The knife block was pushed far away from Felix, the cheese knife in his hands wrestled away and tossed into the sink. The cheese wedge in Felix's hands slipped out accidentally. Hands were tight on Felix's elbows, agitating the healing bruises. A voice snarling into his ear, inhaling the breath in his lungs, "I don't want you touching any knives. I thought I told you this."

Felix shook his head rapidly, eyes shut tight when Malcolm closed in, "Of course. Of course. Anything you want," He gasped when Malcolm shook him again, "You're right. I'll be good," A hand clasped around his throat, Felix's eyes snapped open, pupils wild and dilated, " _I'm sorry!_ " He squealed, utterly terrified, barely noticing the heat soaking through his pants.

Malcolm let go of him in disgust, letting Felix crumple to the floor in shock, "My god, Felix," He knelt down, "I'll get you cleaned up. Stay right here," He said, voice even and _kind_. He rushed into the laundry room, leaving Felix alone.

The trembling boy couldn't move, mouth gaping, unable to believe he soiled himself in fear but more shocked that it _worked_ to stop Malcolm. He shut his eyes, leaning against the cabinet, wondering if this miserable tactic was his only defense.

 

 _It was an accident this time_. The bruise on Felix's cheek, the swelling of his left eye, Malcolm never struck him in the face so this time, it had to be an accident. Malcolm lost control; Felix pushed him too far.

The migraine made it difficult to sleep but that wasn't the cause of his insomnia. Felix eyed the deceptively strong arms wrapped around his waist, immediately feeling Malcolm's breath hot against the back of his neck. Felix buried the side of his face into the pillow to no avail. He wasn't able to naturally fall asleep for a while, not while he felt like he was chained to a bomb.

Slipping out from under the sheets, gingerly replacing himself with a pillow in Malcolm's arms. Felix quietly snuck off into the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and taking out a half empty bottle of sleeping pills, staring at them almost affectionately, _like an old friend that could take him away from all this_. He swallowed them with a sip of water, moving as carefully and quietly as he could before returning to bed, the pain of his cheek already numbing as he drifted off.

 

The next day, a lock appeared on the medicine cabinet.

"You're a pill pusher," Malcolm said, malice hidden under concern as he hovered behind Felix.

"I'm not."

"Look at your eyes. Look at your pupils," Malcolm replied, lifting his head by the chin, meeting his eyes, "You're high. That's why you aren't making sense anymore, why you're sluggish every day. It's probably why you've been having bladder problems."

"Stop."

"No more pills. Not unless I'm there to supervise it," Malcolm replied, "You get _one_ at night and that's it, alright?"

"…okay."

 

The next day, Felix took his allotted pill and hid it under the mattress. The day after that, Felix did it again and again and again. Felix didn't know how many he needed but already, even with just a couple pills hidden away, his mood was starting to lift. _He could smile again_ , when Malcolm joked around. Perhaps this was what tore everything down. Felix was too naïve once more, too naïve to hide his true intentions.

"S-Stop! Stop!" Felix gasped, crawling backwards on the floor, clutching at his left side where Malcolm struck him. He screamed again when Malcolm kicked him in the chest, the pain in his side unbearable when jostled by the action, " _Please…_ "

"What did you think you were going to do with this?" Malcolm hissed, throwing a handful of sleeping pills onto the ground, finding Felix's cache when he was changing the sheets, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Felix couldn't speak, babbling incomprehensibly as Malcolm closed in on him, towering over him while pain racked his body. He eyed the pills fearfully, wondering if he should dive for them now before Malcolm pummelled him into submission.

"After everything I've done for you, _this_ is how you repay me?" Malcolm growled, grabbing Felix's collar and yanking him up, ignoring the violent tremble of his body, "Plotting to _kill_ me."

_Kill him…?_

"It wasn't--"

Malcolm struck him hard in the side once more, eyes righteous as if he hadn't just done a heinous action, "I should get you committed. Get you fixed in the head."

"I'm not--"

The world was spinning, vision jarring and blurred. Felix's forehead met the wooden floor, body collapsing under its own weight. Malcolm was screaming at him, accusing him, and for some reason, having the blame pinned to him like this was unbearable. Teeth clenched, Felix forced himself up and stared at Malcolm with all the strength he could mustered.

“Just get it over with.”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, teeth bared, “What the hell was that?”

"Just kill me!" He shouted, voice breaking at the volume, anything to shut Malcolm up, “If you won’t let me do it myself, then kill me,” He succeeded, the older man staring at Felix like he was a ghost, skin paling suddenly, "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be with you like this," He covered his face, gripping into his hair, "I just wanted everything to _stop_."

Every time Malcolm beat him, mocked him, humiliated him, all of it built up to this final moment. In a gruesome yet fitting sense of poetic justice, Felix hoped Malcolm would beat him to death right now for shouting at him. He crumpled over once more, unable to squeeze out tears to sob.

Arms came around Felix's weak, trembling form, embracing him till he thought he'd shatter. A hand rubbed circles on his back, comfort that Felix desperately needed given to him by the worst person possible, "I'm sorry," Malcolm murmured, shutting his eyes, "I keep losing control. I keep hurting you. But I don't mean it, really," Felix breathed in deep, trying to find reprieve in the older man's familiar, sweet scent, "If I lose control again, I swear I'll lock myself up, wait it out alone."

Felix almost laughed. If he lost control, how would he know to lock himself up?

"I'll never hurt you ever again. I won't touch you unless you let me. I'll do anything you want," Malcolm continued to whisper, "Just please, please, _please_ don’t leave me."

Felix wondered if this would be a wake-up call for Malcolm, teaching him that he couldn't do whatever he wanted without consequence, that if he kept pushing and pushing, Felix really would jump off the edge. Felix wasn't stupid anymore, knew that his hopes and wishes belonged in thoughts and no where else. _But what else could Felix do?_

Felix returned the embrace, shutting his eyes, pain still racking his body.

 

The lock was still there. Felix lowered his shirt, covering up his bruises and bandages before taking the lock into his hands, pulling at it. Still locked up, still on a leash, nothing had changed. At least Malcolm let him back in the kitchen.

Hunting for a snack in the kitchen, Felix eyed a pack of pepperoni sticks on top of the fridge. Absently, Felix reached up for it and immediately recoiled, pain sharp in his sides, legs trembling at the spike. He was already in a cold sweat and all he wanted was a fucking snack. He settled for crackers on the lower counter, sorting through the package and stuffing them into his mouth.

Eyeing the clock on the microwave, Felix wondered when Malcolm would return. He mentioned his younger brother was visiting today and that he had a very particular taste for beer. Felix never liked the people that Malcolm invited over. They were all former mobsters, men like Malcolm who disagreed with the Gold Family's new direction. Felix could always feel them leering at him, could hear their lewd remarks that Malcolm never denied, some of them getting physical when Malcolm wasn't there, treating him like _Malcolm's pet_. Perhaps this was a blessing; this would mean Felix would spend the entire day on his own, Malcolm too preoccupied with his guests to harass him.

Felix smiled softly to himself, mixing himself a thermos of hot chocolate. He dug up a couple books from storage the other day; he'd happily spend the day going through those, laying on the bed with hot chocolate, nursing his wounded body. The more he thought about it, the more excited he got. He looked through the drawers, careful not to extend his arms too quickly as he looked for something to snack on.

The click of the door lock startled Felix. Pulling out a random box of cookies, Felix shut the drawers and stepped out of the kitchen, ready to greet Malcolm, "Welcome back, Mal…colm?"

The man that entered looked so much like Malcolm, sharing his chestnut brown hair, messy scruff, and sharp blue-green eyes but several years younger. His hair was a mess, his fringe scattered all over his forehead. He looked bulkier, healthier, dressed in old jeans, stained black beater, and a worn leather jacket. As the man approached, Felix noted a lazy but manic look in his eyes, a look that felt _nostalgic_ for reasons Felix didn't quite understand.

"Malcolm?" The man replied, brow quirked as he approached with a lazy smile on his face, "I sure as hell hope not," His voice was distinctly different from Malcolm. It was deeper, smooth, slightly nasally, and most notably, a distinct American accent, "Hey, you must be Felix."

Malcolm's guest, his younger brother, it had to be, "Uh, yeah," Felix murmured, suddenly withdrawing on himself. _Malcolm wouldn't want him talking to guests without him_ , "I should… um, you should-- He's not here."

"Oh, I know. Name's Colin by the way," Colin replied, hands in his pockets as he kept approaching, following Felix as he walked him backwards into the kitchen, "Look at you. My brother's old enough to be your father. I'll be honest here; I didn't know my brother swung that way."

Felix huffed at the thought. Malcolm's sexuality was one of the few things he was utterly sure of, "He swings a lot of ways."

Colin laughed in reply, smile wide and bright, "Yeah. You'd know all about that," He reclined back on one foot, tilting his head back, still studying Felix with his eyes, "You can tell me the truth, you know," Felix's brows furrowed, honestly confused, but Colin seemed to think he was playing coy, "Why would someone your age be interested in my crusty, older brother? I know he's got a taste for _trophy wives_ but _this_ is a little much, isn't it? I'm pretty sure my nephew is the same age as you."

"Trophy wife?" Felix said quietly.

Colin scoffed at the reaction, snickering under his breath, brow quirked as he backed Felix into the counter, "I'm younger, better looking," He closed in on Felix, purposely crowding into his space, breathing in his air, mocking him with seduction, "I'm a Gold too, not a Pan, which means I've got millions. If you're looking for someone to dig _gold_ from, clearly I'm the better choice."

 _Gold digger?_ Felix stiffened at his words, mortified by the implication, "I'm not," He whispered, " _I'm not..._ "

The sound of the front door unlocking intercepted Colin. Immediately, Felix broke away and ran to Malcolm, welcoming him home, trying to mask his pain as worry. Colin stayed where he was, watching Malcolm stroke Felix's head like a cat, whisper sweet words to him and immediately soothe Felix's panic.

Malcolm's eyes left Felix, spotting Colin in the kitchen, "Oh. You're already here," He whispered something to Felix, his young lover immediately taking his bags and bringing them into the living room with an awkward shuffle.

Colin closed his hands, staring at Felix as he shuffled away before turning back to his brother, "Missed you, old man. Come on, you've got a lot to catch me up on," Slapping his brother on the back, Colin led Malcolm into the living room, taking the bags from Felix before tossing himself onto the couch, breaking open a beer and slurping up the foam, "Ah, nothing beats Seven Dwarves beer."

"Same old brewery since high school," Malcolm replied, sitting across from his brother with his legs on the coffee table. Smirking as he watched Felix step around the couch, reaching out and smacking his ass as he came around, the _violent flinch_ completely flying over his head, "You hungry?"

Colin watched Felix carefully, seeing the slightest tremble in his hands before the young man turned around, a kind, pure smile on his face, "I just ate. Thank you for asking."

Wrinkling his nose with a giggle when Felix kissed his forehead, Malcolm cheerfully looked over to his brother smug in his expression, "Alright. Take care then."

"Wait," Colin said. Both Malcolm and Felix looked honestly surprised. Breaking open another can of beer to shatter then tension, he offered the foaming beverage to Felix, "Let him sit with us. Maybe he wants to hear about Square of Slaughter."

Felix averted his eyes, kneading at the end of his sweater, "I shouldn't."

Colin gestured to Felix, nearly pushing the frosty beer into his chest before Felix caught it with his fingers, "Come on. Don't waste a good beer," He almost laughed when Felix's lips turned up in a small, genuine smile. He pat the couch, gesturing for Felix to join them and unsurprised when Felix chose to sit next to Malcolm, letting his older brother drape an arm around him, "So, Square of Slaughter."

"Right, right, it's this silly death match wrestling thing my brother does," Malcolm explained flippantly, waving a hand dismissively as he took a sip from Felix's beer, letting his lover wipe off a spot of foam from his beard, "What's happening this time? Window pane warfare? Light bulbs?"

Colin hummed with contemplation, "I like the sound of Window Pane Warfare. But sadly no," Reaching into his jacket, Colin retrieved a flier covered in faux blood stains and miscellaneous, makeshift weapons, "Seven days of Slaughter right here in Storybrooke at midnight. Probably because they haven't outlawed extreme wrestling yet."

"When are you ever going to grow up?" Malcolm chuckled out as he took the can from Felix's fingers and took a large gulp, "Getting paid to take saws up your arse isn't something that can last in the long term."

"And being a Sugar Daddy living off subsidies is?" Colin replied, smirking with a dangerous look, "I didn't know booty calls were supposed to move in. How much did he cost?"

Hands fisted on his knees, Felix managed to choke out a quick remark, "I'm not a booty call."

"Really now?" Colin said, smirk on his face as he took a sip of his beer, letting a spot of foam fall from his chin, "You have a job?"

"… no."

"Surprise, _surprise_ ," Colin replied, malicious, looking at Felix and seeing something completely different.

It was unbearably unfair. Clicking his tongue, Felix snapped back with all the anger he could muster, "You know nothing about me," His eyes were steel for just a moment, "You don't know what I've been--" His voice faded into a mumble when Malcolm's gaze turned to him, steel turning to smoke, scattering with every breath Malcolm took.

Malcolm had cut him off, pulling him in close and immediately agitating his ribs. Felix squirmed in pain, biting down on his tongue to stay quiet, trying to keep himself as muted as he could. Colin blinked, eyes flickering to the hand on Felix's left side before returning to his older brother, "Don't talk to my lover like that. Felix is my soul mate," Taking Felix's chin, pressing soft kisses all along his cheek, "Our love spans years and years. Something I doubt you'd understand."

"You know me. I need excitement," Colin replied, eyeing Felix the entire time. Felix noticed, almost hyper aware of everything around him, and he didn't know how to react, didn't know how to read anyone but Malcolm, "You want another beer? Malcolm so rudely drank all of yours," The shift in his tone was jarring but luckily, only Malcolm seemed oblivious to it.

Before Felix could answer, Colin was already reaching for a beer and tossing it at him. Felix reached for it out of reflex, immediately recoiling and crumpling over, letting the beer hit the carpet and roll away. He took a shaky breath, eyes shut tight as he weathered through the pain, "I-I'm so clumsy," He murmured, making eye contact with Colin for just a second before jerking away and standing up, "I've got hot chocolate in the kitchen. A-And its probably cold. I'll just--"

"Whoa! Damn it," Colin shouted, holding an exploding, foaming beer in his hands, tilting the can to purposely let it drip onto the floor.

Malcolm rolled his eyes, "Damn it Colin. This is why we can't have nice things," He sputtered when Colin placed the still leaking can onto the coffee table, "Don't put it there! Come on, get that in the sink."

Yanking his brother up by his arm and leading him to the kitchen, just as Malcolm stepped into the laundry room to retrieve paper towels, Colin quickly shut the laundry room door and barred it shut with a dining chair. Felix trembled in fear when Colin returned without Malcolm, the older man instead ranting and banging at the door.

Colin started, voice kind and completely unlike the way he was before, "I'm sorry--"

The pressure in Felix's chest returned, the numbness in his mind whenever he could sense danger, "Stay away."

"Take your shirt off," Colin said, immediately regretting when he saw the blood drain from Felix's face, leaving him ghostly pale and wide-eyed, "Not like that. I just want to see the damage."

Felix flinched as if the word caused him pain. He averted his eyes, staring at the ground with a wild look, shaking his head in quick, jerky motions. His fingers kneaded on the hem of his sweater once more, anything to hide the tremble in them.

Colin sighed heavily, sweeping a hand through his hair, "I heard the rumours about his ex-wife. She already left him by the time I came back to Storybrooke. Never figured out if they were true or not," Felix didn't look at him, his only reaction to Colin's words was the furrowing of his brows, "I've seen plenty of broken ribs in my line of work. Let me survey the damage. Please?"

Felix's gaze shifted to him, eyes weary and dull like stone, "There's no damage," He shuffled around Colin carefully, leaning away from him as if Colin would lunge at any moment.

The moment Felix let Malcolm out, the older man immediately caught his younger brother in a headlock, jokingly berating him for his stupid pranks. Colin played along, casually dismissing everything while keeping a careful eye on Felix who stood well away from both of them. Before Felix could make his way up the stairs, Colin cleared his throat loudly to catch his attention, "So, Square of Slaughter, midnight. It's a little hectic at first when you watch but we've got _professional medics_ there," He caught the pause in Felix's motions, his hand hovering on the handrail for just a moment before continuing upwards.

Malcolm collapsed onto the couch, tonguing at his empty beer can. Colin followed him, draping himself over the opposite couch and propping his feet up beside Malcolm's, "So, what's been happening for you?"

Malcolm smirked, ready to pour out all the events in this past year, "My son got married. Let's start from there."

 

"What did you think of him?" Malcolm asked, spitting out a mouth of foam and rinsing off his toothbrush.

Felix looked up from the bed, gently wrapping the comforter around himself, "He's okay."

"An idiot, right?" Malcolm snickered, "Little Colin, always so fascinated with violence. Did you know when he was in high school, he'd get into fight clubs all the time? Coerced me to join a few too. That's where I learned how to fight."

"…ah."

"That stuff is good and all when you're a teenager and you're still trying things out," Malcolm rinsed out his mouth, placing his toothbrush down before heading over to the bed, "But what's he going to do when he's older? Probably end up in a coma from all the concussions."

Felix never thought about his life when he was in high school, never figured out where he'd go because it was all dependant on what Peter wanted. _Bartending_ was a distant dream and nothing more, "Yeah," He lay down gently on his back, beckoning Malcolm over with a hand soft on the sheets.

Malcolm giggled excitedly, creeping onto the bed and laying on his side, staring at Felix lovingly, "Did you two talk about something while I was out?"

"No," Felix replied, voice quiet.

"How about when I was locked up?"

Colin was trying to survey his injuries. Colin was trying to _help_ him, "No."

"Hm."

Felix didn't like it when Malcolm was quiet, didn’t like it when Malcolm was _studying_ him like a misbehaving child. Felix shut his eyes, brow twitching as he tried to will himself to sleep. A hand brushed against his cheek, causing his eyes to immediately snap open.

" _Felix_ ," Malcolm's voice was low, sweet, eyes soft and kind, "Things are going to be better. I promise," He gingerly laid a hand on Felix's chest, careful not to agitate any wounds, "I'll make it up to you," Malcolm took Felix's lack of response as a confirmation. He smiled, kissing his brow and turning off the lamp, burying himself under the sheets close to Felix, inviting him to cuddle.

Felix did no such thing, shutting his eyes and pulling the blanket over himself, flinching when he accidentally applied pressure to his ribs when rolling over. The dull pain lingered in his ribs, waking him whenever he tried to drift off.

_We've got professional medics there._

Eyes snapping open, suddenly unable to fall asleep, Felix couldn't let go of that single act of kindness in these long, difficult months. Malcolm's gentle snoring acted as motivation to move forward. Felix put up with suffering, humiliation, all at the hands of Malcolm up until the point he couldn't take it anymore. After everything Felix was subjected to, he _deserved_ this. Sliding off the bed slowly, Felix picked up his clothes from the ground and exited the room, sneaking out with the flier to Square of Slaughter in his hands.

 

It took him two buses to reach his destination: A farm right at the edge of the town with plenty of land for stages and crowds. He heard the buzz of a crowd in the distance, lights suspended in the air illuminating a bustling crowd surrounding a wrestling arena. As Felix approached, he could catch a whiff of alcohol, beer, and blood. He swallowed, stepping into the crowd, noticing everyone cheering and excited as if they were at a concert. It wasn't until Felix could see the arena clearly did doubts begin to race through his head.

The floor of the arena was grimy with blood and dirt. Glass shards were pooled all over, broken metal frames hanging from the ropes. In the middle, he could see a large, bald man, scratches all over the top of his head, stumbling backwards over glass and metal. _Colin stood before him_ , white beater stained pink, jeans torn all over. He struck the man twice, manic look in his face when his opponent reeled back and howled, sending the crowd into a cheer. Colin was not disturbed, simply charging and striking his opponent on the chest, spinning him around before grabbing him around the waist, hoisting him out of the air, teetering as he positioned himself properly and flipped back, hurling the bulky man backwards and straight into the glass shards. There was a scream, manic panting and convulsing as glass scratched away at the man's flesh. Colin rushed at him, taking his legs and pinning him to the mat as a referee came towards them.

"1…! 2…! 3…!" The referee announced, slapping the mat each time and punctuating himself with the ring of a bell, "And your winner is, the Goldsmith!"

Amongst the carnage and cheering, Felix was utterly transfixed on the ring, seeing _who he used to be_ amongst the glass and blood, Peter Pan's vicious second-in-command before he was domesticated. The feeling was euphoric like a drug, a rush that Felix hadn't felt in forever. He blinked twice when he noticed the crowd parting, turning to him in confusion as Colin was marching towards him, eyes wild with a manic grin stretched across his face. Felix was petrified where he was, unaware of how to react, how he felt about this. By the time his ability to think returned, Colin was right against him, _lips pressed hard_ against his. Felix could feel the blood pumping through Colin's body, the euphoria of violence and erotica taking over his body. Colin pulled away, licking his lips, lazy smile on his face before sense and awareness returned to his eyes.

"Meet me behind the barn," He whispered into Felix's ear, pulling away with a lazy gait before pumping his fists into the air, drawing a huge pop from the crowd.

For the first time in a very long while, lost in a blood thirsty crowd, Felix felt _alive_.

 

“...I’m not interested.”

Colin perked up, honest confusion on his face, “What?”

“You kissed me. I said I’m not interested,” Felix clarified, taking his shirt off slowly and tossing it aside, holding his arms up to let Colin survey the damage.

The younger Gold looked clearly disturbed at the state of his body, something Felix pretended not to notice, “I know. It’s just something I do after a fight, heat of the moment, you know? That _euphoria_ , I’ve only gotten into a fight because of that once. Every other time, they just think its part of the show,” He smirked, gesturing to his bared but bloody form, “And I mean, look at me. You think anyone would be angry after taking a good look at me?”

Felix snickered, rolling his eyes mirthfully.

"Raise your arm. There, just like that," Colin said, carefully undoing the bandage around Felix's ribs. He winced when he saw the damage, the awful colours staining Felix's skin, "Bandages won't help fractured ribs. Only time will help. I can get you some painkillers."

"That's fine," Felix murmured, "I'm used to it," Colin was silent, hands stopping as he stared at Felix, "I meant… I meant I used to get into fights in high school," He looked past Colin's studying expression, immediately eyeing a small shard of glass in his shoulder, "Shouldn't you be taking care of that?"

Colin cleared his throat, hands continuing their trek around Felix's body, "You're in way worse shape than I am," He removed the last of it, placing an adhesive bandage over a scrape on his shoulder bone, "Really? You into brawls?"

Felix could've smirked at his tone, reminding him so much of Peter questioning his ability to go to trade school, "All the time back then. I was in a gang. Got into fight clubs behind the shed."

"Same with me," Colin replied, sitting back and picking glass out from his arm with pair of tweezers, "School wrestling just didn't work for me, didn't feel right, you know? Like, there wasn't any risk. Everything was controlled and standardized. I needed a brawl, needed blood. Nothing quite like that feeling."

"Yeah. It was fun," Felix said, trying to fade into a memory but finding himself unable to. He had spent so much effort muffling his past, anything to stop the unrelenting regret.

Colin took a towel from behind Felix, damping it with a water bottle before wiping up the blood crusted on his body, "You know the Golds tried to stop me? Sent me off to a boarding school with a caretaker. I just found another fight club there."

Colin's gleeful grin managed to make Felix chuckle, his hands holding his ribs still as he chest rattled with quiet laughter, "Is that why you don't have an accent?"

"Probably," Colin replied with a shrug, "Why'd you stop fighting?"

It was no longer optimal. In high school, brute force and personality were enough to take control. Peter grew up, entered a world where violence was no longer a positive factor, and Felix would have become baggage if he clung to his old ways, "Circumstances."

"I see," Colin said, scrubbing his sweat soaked hair with the slightly damp towel before tossing it aside, "I'm sorry about how I treated you. Thought things were different. I've known my brother well enough to expect things of his bed warmers. You're not like them," He waited briefly, elbows on his knees as he watched Felix pulled his shirt down slowly, words on his lips but unable to let them slip. Felix knew what he wanted to say based solely on his hesitation, "It's not right. _That_ … our mother didn't raise us like that. How long has it been going on?"

 _Months_ , but the days melted together and Felix couldn't be sure, "I don't know what you're talking about," He pulled his sweater on, bundling himself up more and more, "I fell down the stairs."

Colin said nothing, simply watching Felix carefully and waving goodbye as Felix turned away and left the farm. 

 

"Here you go," Malcolm said, dropping two painkillers onto Felix's palm before pressing a kiss to his forehead and locking the medicine cabinet.

"Thank you."

The pain in his ribs dulled to a bearable ache shortly after he took the pills but Felix still wanted to remain in bed. He stayed on his back, propped up on the pillows with a thermos of hot chocolate and one of the books he had dug up in his hands. The pages were dogeared and the cover was worn but Felix could still make out _The Little Prince_ upon the cover.

“Hey.”

Felix tried not to flinch at Malcolm’s weight stretching the bed.

“We haven’t gone out in a while. Haven’t had a real date in weeks,” Malcolm said, laying on his side to face Felix, “What would you like to do?”

Felix nervously played with the dogeared cover, “Anything you want.”

“Not this time,” Malcolm said, shifting onto his knees, kneeling beside Felix yet still towering over him, “I want you to choose something you’ll enjoy. Pick restaurants you want to go to. Anything _you_ want. Anything to make you happy. You like Granny’s right? Always a big fan of their lasagna.”

Felix immediately shook his head. He didn’t want to go anywhere he’d be recognized. Anywhere people would judge him, pity him, _mock him_ , “I don’t know--” He cut himself off when he heard the rattle of the front door lock.

Malcolm left his side, swinging his legs lazily over the bed and marching over to the top of the stairs, eyeing his eager-faced younger brother with a bag of DVDs in his hands, “Colin?”

“Malcolm!” Colin replied with mocking enthusiasm.

“What are you doing here again?” Malcolm asked, folding his arms and not bothering to show his disdain.

“What? Can’t a guy come and visit his older brother?” Colin replied, “Besides, you’ve got plenty of beer left over from yesterday,” Reaching into his plastic bag, Colin withdrew what appeared to be a faux blood stained DVD box, “And I brought the entertainment.”

Somehow, Colin was able to cajole Malcolm into letting Felix join them despite Malcolm’s dissatisfaction. Felix remained at Malcolm’s side, sitting meekly against the arm rest on his left while Malcolm was on his right. Felix scratched at the sticker on his beer, muting his reactions to Colin breaking a glass tube over his opponent’s face on TV while Colin and Malcolm howled at the impact.

“Let me play that again in slow-mo,” Colin said, sipping his beer before pressing the rewind the footage, slowing it down and stopping right at the frame when the tube burst into powder, “Ouch! Right there!”

Malcolm chuckled heartily, clearly amused despite all his disapproval. He swung an arm behind Felix on the couch, smile merry as he placed his empty beer bottle aside, “How is this not outlawed yet in Storybrooke?”

Colin shrugged, nodding over to Felix, “So, what did you think?”

Ducking his head, a shy chuckle masking his unease, Felix replied with a shrug. His eyes found the screen once more, shock in his eyes as he saw Colin getting his forehead carved up with a kitchen knife, “W-wha...” His opponent, a burly man with a thick beard, picked him up onto his shoulders before hurling him back first into the ground over the same pile of glass he made from breaking fluorescent tubes. Lifting one leg, pinning Colin to his back, a referee quickly slid across the mat and slapped the ground, counting to three and declaring the burly man as victor, “You lost.”

“Oh, that, I forgot about that,” Colin said with a quiet chuckle, “That was a mistake. I was supposed to win that but he knocked me out with that power bomb. For the record. I got the belt back in the next show.”

A smirk on Felix’s face, “I’m sure It was.”

Tonguing the inside of his cheek with an amused look, making himself look so much like _Peter_ that it almost felt nostalgic, Colin folded his arms smugly, “Are you saying you think I should’ve lost that match?”

For just a brief moment, Felix’s face lit up with a beautiful smile full of coyness and attitude, “You broke one glass tube over his head. He broke you through three tables.”

“Well, Felix, it’s not about the number of spots,” Colin said, leaning over onto his knees, balancing his beer by the neck, “It’s about the quality of it. I mean, look at this,” Rewinding again, he paused right after he made contact with the table, “See! Right there, the table doesn’t break. The leg just bent,” He tapped at the screen, “I mean, if you don’t trust me. Why don’t you watch my show tonight? It’s ‘Dog Collar’ night.”

Felix almost laughed at the name, “Dog collar...?”

Colin scoffed, pressing play before swinging back onto the couch, “Don’t give me that look. I know what you’re thinking,” His brow perked as Felix matched his smug expression, “Both wrestlers have a dog collar on and are connected by a chain. No disqualification, all weapons allowed, first person to pin the other wins,” His brow perked once more when Felix licked his lips, wetting them in almost excitement, “Come on, look at you. You want to watch the show. You’re fucking salivating!”

“Ha, I’m not--”

“We _are not interested_.”

 Like a sudden cold front, the warmth of Felix’s smile died right away, a candle snuffed out. The arm behind Felix came forward, gripping onto his reluctant lover. Malcolm’s sour expression petrified Felix.

“...mm. I’m not interested.”

As soon as Malcolm reasserted himself, Felix was no where to be seen in the conversation. Colin tapped at his beer, bothered, but he couldn’t let his brother catch on, couldn’t let him know that he was purposely coaxing Felix into a conversation. He kept trying, kept playing more footage, kept milking reactions from Felix and coercing him to speak. All to no avail; once Malcolm put his foot down, Felix obediently pulled away.

 

“You seemed really amused with Square of Slaughter,” Malcolm said, laying in bed with arms folded under his head, “Why?”

Felix closed the book in his hands, placing it on the bed stand as slowly as he could, _anything to avoid Malcolm’s inquisitive glare_ , “It reminded me of myself. What I used to do.”

“Act like a ruffian? Peter’s personal attack dog?”

Malcolm’s voice was harsh, crafted to force Felix to submit, “Mm,” He mumbled, kneading at the blanket in his hands, “I grew out of that. That’s not who I am anymore,” A hand carded through his hair, weaving through fine golden locked before settling behind Felix’s ear. He looked up slowly, meeting Malcolm’s loving gaze.

“Right,” Malcolm whispered, soft smile on his face before he shifted his weight onto Felix’s body, pressing their lips together and crushing his broken ribs against his body.

Trembling as he fought the urge to scream and _break the kiss_ , Felix held still as long as he could before tilting his head away and shoving lightly at Malcolm, “W-Wait,” He gasped out, surprised when Malcolm kept his weight on him, hands gliding down his shirt, agitating his ribs further. Felix struggled under him, unable to stop himself despite knowing that Malcolm would be angry, “Please!” He gasped out, shoving at Malcolm’s chest and utterly terrified when Malcolm took his wrist and pinned it beside his head with bruising strength.

The same terror from every other time Malcolm beat him filled Felix’s heart. He couldn’t choke out a single word, leaving him gaping and helpless, the pupil in his eyes dilated till none of the silver was visible. _You said things would be better. You said you’d lock yourself up if you ever got this angry again._

 _“You promised_ ,” Felix choked out past his chattering teeth and mental paralysis.

The hand released his wrist, the heat of Malcolm’s skin leaving Felix’s body. The older man lifted himself, dropping next to him on the bed on his side, eyes like cinders fading, “I’m sorry.”

The sob died in his throat just like every cry for help Felix tried in the past. He turned his head away, wishing he could roll onto his side and pretend Malcolm wasn’t beside him. He needed to get away, _deserved to_ , so when Malcolm finally dozed off well into the night, Felix left the bedroom and went back to Square of Slaughter.

 

“The reigning champion, The Goldsmith!” The announcer shouted, pumping his fist in the air as Colin sauntered towards the ring. He rolled in under the ropes, immediately chaining the collar around his neck to his opponent’s, a greasy haired man with dark skin and a manic look, swinging the chain gleefully.

Felix, drunk on the electricity from the crowd, lifted his hands and shouted as best he could without agitating his ribs, “Let’s go Colin!” Felix gasped when Colin eyed him, turning away from his opponent for a second before blowing a kiss in his direction followed by an obscene pumping motion with one hand.

The reprieve was short but appreciated. Almost immediately after, the bell rang and Colin was yanked off his feet by the chain attached to his collar, fists raining down immediately while both men had manic smiles plastered onto their faces.

 

Stepping over glass shards carefully, Felix followed Colin over to the makeshift shower stalls by the stable, “Not grossed out, are you?” Colin asked, stepping over a very distinguishable piece of flesh that looked to be carved out from someone’s back, “He’s alive, by the way.”

“No, not at all,” Felix replied, stepping around a man stained with pinkish water, “Your match had the biggest pop from the crowd.”

“Of course it did. It had me in a dog collar. What more could you want?” Colin joked, reaching into a basket of clean towels and tossing one to Felix, “You wanted to take a shower too, right?” Felix nodded, not wanting to admit that he had been avoiding bathing for a good couple of days, fearing that Malcolm would try to initiate sex with him while he was still in pain, “No problem. There’s plenty of stalls. Just watch out for glass.”

Nodding, Felix stepped into the stall beside Colin. They were simply separated by curtains which Felix could just barely look over, seeing the tops of anyone’s heads peeking out. Despite the simple construction, the water came down hot and there was plenty of soap to be shared. Felix breathed a deep sigh, enjoying the feel of hot water flushing away the sweat on his body, soothing his aching ribs.

“I’m a big pull, as you can see,” Colin said, rinsing away the blood on his forehead, snarling under his breath when the shampoo stung his skin, “Everybody comes to see the Goldsmith.”

“That’s... a stupid name.”

Colin scoffed loudly, sounding comically offended, “Hey, I came up with that on the spot!” He stopped briefly, immediately noting a slight pinkness in the water in Felix’s shower. He swallowed, fearful of what it meant, “So, what did you think of the match?”

“Pretty fun,” Felix replied, soaping himself up carefully.

“Hey Colin, you got any soap in there?” A familiar voice called from the neighbouring small. The dark-skinned man that had faced Colin in the collar match peeked over the curtain, reaching into Colin’s stall to take a piece of soap, “Thanks man.”

Colin nodded to him, “No problem,” He said, continuing to scrub away the dirt and sand caked onto his skin. He peered to his right, noticing Felix looking over the curtain in confusion, “Peeking on me? That’s naughty.”

Felix scoffed loudly, turning back into his stall, “I was not,” He snapped, “Nothing worth looking at in there,” A loud guffaw came from Colin’s other neighbour again, catching their conversation and bursting into laughter.

“Ha, ha,” Colin mocked, clapping slowly before punching at the stall curtain to his left.

“I was just curious. You two were tearing each other’s throats out. Didn’t think you’d get along so well,” Felix said, giving his hair a second rinse.

“It’s called ‘kayfabe’, pig latin for ‘be fake’,” Colin explained, shutting off his shower and picking up his towel, “It’s all a show on stage. All the rivalries, heels, faces, that’s all for show. We’re entertainers first,” Pulling open his curtain, Colin sat himself down on a nearby bench after wrapping a towel around his waist, taking another towel to dry off his hair. He kept his eyes on Felix’s stall, noting how everyone had already finished up while Felix was still in there, cherishing this peaceful time alone, “Mind if I ask you something?” Colin called out.

Felix opened his eyes, startled out of his daze, “Err, yes?”

“How did you meet my brother?” Colin said.

There was silence at first but Colin expected it, gave Felix time to properly formulate his thoughts, “We met at a club. I didn’t have anyone to celebrate my birthday with so I went to a club. There he was,” Felix ghosted over the details, didn’t mention how Peter had destroyed his world moment before, didn’t mention the dry humping and dirty dancing, kept it as clean as he could, “It wasn’t a good time in my life for me but Malcolm was there. Malcolm kept supporting me. He protected me. And here I am now.”

“Protected you?” Colin said, “From what?”

“...myself,” He murmured, trying to hide his response in the sound of water, “I had a shitty apartment, barely had a job, no college degree, _no friends_ , and Malcolm took me in anyway. He loved me regardless of everything.”

Felix could hear Colin’s heavy sigh, could feel his disbelief even without looking at him, “Felix, if this is about money, you don’t have to put up with him. You’re still young. You can find ways to support yourself,” Colin stood, approaching Felix’s stall, “You see, about a decade back, Malcolm was married to a woman named Zelena. I didn’t know much about her or their relationship other than that they had a son together; I was still in boarding school at the time. But I heard _enough_ , enough to know that what they had wasn’t right, wasn’t healthy. I didn’t believe it at the time because I wasn’t there and I loved my brother. But now I see it, what he does, _what he’s done_.”

Felix could see Colin’s shadow against the curtain, wondered how close they were to each other. His head was dizzy with words and lies and confessions and cover-ups.

“I have connections for anyone, even high school drop outs. And if my connections at Square of Slaughter aren’t enough, I’ll ask my family for help,” Colin continued, unable to see Felix’s head poking out from under the curtain, aware that he was probably crumpled over in the shower in fear, “Let me help you.”

Hands shoved at him through the curtain, forcing Colin backwards as Felix stepped out from the shower and towelled himself off, uncaring that he was bare naked for everyone to see as he hastily threw his clothes on. Colin reached for him, trying to stop him, but Felix whipped around, eyes locked as he spoke, “It’s not about the money or the security or loneliness or anything,” He threw the towel around his neck off, fixing his hood around his soaking wet hair, “Malcolm loves me and that’s the only thing I want from him,” He averted his gaze when he was sure Colin believed him, “It’s not the money I’m after. I’ve lived in much worse than this.”

Colin watched him solemnly, the heat and excitement of the show gone, “Have you?”

Felix couldn’t say a word, simply slipping off before Colin could speak again.

 

Felix had returned home late last night, his mind too muddled as he kept taking the wrong bus, ending up on a citywide tour of Storybrooke at night. As soon as he came home, he threw his clothes into the laundry room and tossed himself onto the couch, falling asleep instantly. The sun peeking through the blinds woke him up, forcing him to wake an hour earlier than he usually did. Stretching lightly, Felix decided to make his way back to the bedroom, possibly sneaking into bed before Malcolm realized he was out.

He opened the door and all but jumped ten feet into the air when he saw Malcolm sitting on the edge of the bed staring at him. The greeting was stuck in his throat so Malcolm spoke first, “Where were you?”

The older man’s hair was ruffled and his eyes didn’t indicate any lack of sleep. Felix figured he wasn’t up the whole night, perhaps just awoke early to use the bathroom and found Felix missing from the bed, “I-I...” His voice shook as he struggled to lie, “I went for a walk. H-Had a nightmare about... Peter.”

“That was selfish.”

Felix paused, eyes flickering up to see saddened yet hardened eyes staring back at him.

“You know I’m already worried about you hurting yourself or _worse._ I was worried sick when I couldn’t find you,” Malcolm said, standing up and pulling Felix close, tucking his head against his neck, “Next time you run off, you can’t expect me to just wait here for you, alright?”

Felix forced a smile on his face, resting a hand on Malcolm’s cheek, “Let’s go back to bed.”

“It was selfish,” Malcolm stayed firm, holding Felix in place with one hand and a stern look.

Swallowing, submitting, Felix nodded weakly, “It was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

Malcolm smiled, eyes wrinkling, “Thank you. Let’s go back to bed.”

 

Again, Colin had invited himself into their lives, this time offering to pay for brunch at a pricey restaurant. Malcolm couldn’t say no and Felix went out into the daytime public for the first time in a while. While Malcolm and Colin bickered over the superior breakfast condiment, Felix had his eyes on the back of his spoon, bothered by how long his hair had gotten, the curly mess nearly to his shoulders. If he straightened it out, he could probably tie it into a ponytail.

When the waiter came, Felix couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ‘deluxe breakfast platter, extra sausage, extra bacon, extra toast’ that Colin had ordered for himself, “I work out,” Colin said, answering Felix’s unsaid question, “I need to keep up my energy intake.”

“For Square of Slaughter?” Felix asked, looking down at his still sizable standard breakfast.

“Of course,” Colin replied, pouring himself more orange juice, “Pass me the maple syrup when you’re done.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, drowning his French toast in the sweet syrup before handing it over to Colin, “Can you really pay for all this with your extreme wrestling paycheck?”

“Not my paycheck covering this,” Colin replied, taking out a gold rimmed card from his wallet, “Courtesy of the Gold Family,” He snickered when he saw Malcolm sneering at the card, “Say, Felix, Malcolm ever tell you how he got kicked out of the family?”

Felix shook his head. Malcolm immediately spoke out, “I didn’t get kicked out. I voluntarily left it because I didn’t like the direction the family was going.”

“Yeah. I believe you,” Colin said, putting the card away, “Our oldest brother became head of the family. His son Neal ran away from home when he was young, hating what the family was. Who could blame him? The Golds were nothing short of _mafia_ in Storybrooke.”

“Then the buffoon came back, thought he could clean up the image,” Malcolm said, lips still twisted in a scowl, “And our older brother, an even bigger buffoon than his son, gave up his position for his son.”

Colin stole a strawberry from Malcolm’s plate, snacking on it lightly, “And then Malcolm got into a huge fight with him and _voluntarily left_. Thank god for subsidies.”

“As long as I have enough to take care of myself and Felix, who cares about the family?” Malcolm said, one hand creeping onto Felix’s knee, “Fuck the Golds.”

Colin shrugged in reply, “Not to brag but being a Gold and not an asshole is pretty great in Storybrooke. Lots of good things have come from it for me.”

“Is Goldsmith one of those things?” 

Before Felix realized the implication of his words, Malcolm’s attention had already snapped to his lover, “Goldsmith?” The instant Felix understood Malcolm’s confusion, the food in his stomach immediately soured. His knee shook under Malcolm’s prodding hand.

“Hey!” Colin exclaimed, hitting the table with a fist, “You remembered my ring name! Come on, brother, I just showed the DVDs to you yesterday.”

One puzzled look later, Malcolm sputtered into uncontrollably laughter, nearly choking on his French toast, “You seriously went with that?” He looked to Felix, not a single bit of malice in his expression, “Did you know he came up with that when we were little?”

“...whoa. Wait a second,” Colin grumbled, “Stop right there.”

“That was the wrestling name he came up with when we were young,” Malcolm said, laughing heartily as Felix chuckled along, “I can’t believe you still remember that.” 

At that soft, bell-like laughter, Colin halted his complaints, letting Felix enjoy himself at his own expense, “Well, I liked the way it sounded. I guess that makes you the Pansmith, doesn’t it?”

“Ha!” Malcolm hacked out, laughing so hard that tears had formed in his eyes.

While Malcolm was distracted with his own amusement, Felix looked over to Colin, lively and genuinely _smug_ at his discovery. Colin shrugged again, drizzling maple syrup all over his pancakes. Felix flinched when Colin reached onto his plate and stole a strip of bacon, wrinkling his nose playfully as he snacked on the greasy meat.

 

After brunch, Colin had hung around at Malcolm’s place once more, the two brothers spending time together while Felix stayed upstairs, peacefully reading a book while drinking hot chocolate. He hadn’t taken his daily painkiller yet but the ache in his ribs was already bearable, life distracting him from physical discomfort.

“Despite all I say about him,” Malcolm said, spitting out the toothpaste in his mouth into the sink, “I really do enjoy it when Colin visits. He’s probably the last Gold out there I can stand talking to.”

“Didn’t know all that about you,” Felix said, sitting against the headboard of the bed, “What was wrong with Neal taking over the family?”

At the name, Malcolm could’ve spit again, “He was a boy scout. The Gold family was the strongest power in Storybrooke, even stronger than the mayor,” He lay down beside Felix, “And that bloody idiot just threw all of that away. Who knows what the Gold family is up to now?”

“Is that why they kicked you out?” Felix asked.

Malcolm raised a finger, nose turned up as he spoke, “They didn’t kick me out. I didn’t agree with their direction and I left.”

“Right,” Felix replied, the smallest of smiles ghosting his lips.

Almost curious, Malcolm’s fingers came up to trace that fleeting expression, “You’re in better spirits.”

Felix nodded back, “Just been a while since I’ve been out.”

“Ah, is that so?” Malcolm said, “I’ll take you out again if you want. And the day after that. As long as you need me to.”

Hesitation betrayed his true feelings. Despite his joy today, knowing that Malcolm and _only Malcolm_ taking him out did not give him any joy. He knew better than to reject Malcolm so he hummed a dismissive, “Okay.”

“There it is again.”

Felix blinked, confused, “What?”

“Every time you’re hiding something, you just mumble out a ‘yes’ or ‘okay’ and then you have that fake, pretending smile,” Malcolm remarked, shuffling up on the bed so he could sit level with Felix. He reached over him, weight heavy as he reached between the mattress and the box spring, searching for _pills_.

Felix stuttered, shoving at Malcolm’s shoulder, “Stop. There’s nothing there.”

“I have to check,” Malcolm replied, sorting through all the gaps on Felix’s side of the bed, “When you were collecting your pills, you always gave me that empty, glassy smile when I gave you your pills,” His hands dove under Felix’s clothes, searching him.

“Stop!” Felix shouted, squirming out from under Malcolm and terrified when his gaze hardened, “ _Please_ ,” He mumbled out weakly, all of his joy gone.

If Felix wasn’t hiding pills from Malcolm, that could only lead to a direr situation, “What do you think of Colin?”

That inquisitive look, the probing questions: W _hat do you think of John Darling? What do you think of Rufio?_ Felix could recognize it immediately and his fingers began to quake, “He’s okay.”

“Really? I’ve noticed you’re real friendly with Colin. Always chatting up with him when he’s around,” Malcolm hissed, “And you know, Colin never visits me more than once when he comes back but he’s been over every day. He’s even buying brunch for us,” He snatched Felix’s phone from the bedstead, fingers skidding over the cracked screen as he shuffled through his latest contacts.

“Stop it!” Felix shouted again, snatching his phone away, “What the hell are you accusing me of?” 

“Is he trying to court you?” Malcolm snarled, his odd vernacular always sounding monstrous when he was angry.

With all honesty, _Felix didn’t know._ Colin kissed him; Colin looked out for him. That was all true but he wasn’t sure if he had any intention to take him as a lover, “No,” Felix murmured, “You’re paranoid.”

“Am I?” Malcolm snarled once more, shuffling onto his knees to tower over Felix, “You’re too friendly with Colin. Is it because he’s younger? Because he’s a _Gold_?”

Felix was shaking his head uncontrollably, anything to placate Malcolm, “No. I-I-I just like hearing about Square of Slaughter. That’s it. That’s the only--”

“Shut up!” Malcolm barked, shoving Felix down onto the bed, “ _You lying whore._ ”

Hands wrestled with the blanket, Malcolm trying to wrench it away and Felix desperately clinging onto just one more barrier between himself and his assailant. He gasped when Malcolm won out and threw it to the ground, climbing over Felix and working at his clothes next, “Stop!” Felix cried out for a third time, clawing at Malcolm’s hands, desperate to get him off before he worsened his healing ribs, “Please don’t!” He sobbed when Malcolm turned him over, crushing him into the mattress, “Please, please, please... you promised!”

Those words managed to stop Malcolm, snapping him back from his rage. Felix kept his hands over his head, eyes shut tight, trembling in fear, “I...shit,” Malcolm muttered under his breath, climbing off the bed.

Felix dared to look up, staying flat on his belly as he choked out his words, “I’m not cheating on you. I’m not courting Colin. Please, believe me.”

Malcolm said nothing, something like shame in his expression as he backed out of the room, shutting himself up in the guest room, locking himself and his rage away. Felix remained where he was, staring at the bedroom door, waiting for Malcolm to burst through it in a fit and beat him to a pulp. He wasn’t courting Colin; he had no intention of leaving Malcolm. Yet, if Malcolm knew where he was going every night, Malcolm would surely _kill him_.

Despite the terror, despite the risk, Felix snuck out anyway.

 

Mindless violence was what Felix needed today, watching people break wooden boards covered in nails over each other’s backs. Colin wasn’t wrestling today; he was a spectator and he quickly invited Felix into the performers’ section of the audience.

“Front row seats!” Colin said, finishing what appear to be his fourth beer and throwing it into a pile of bottles, no doubt to be used in a later match, “You’re here early. What brings you?”

Felix shrugged, taking Colin’s beer from him when he opened another one, “Didn’t want to miss a second.”

Colin chuckled at the response, finger fumbling to open another beer, “Today’s my break so I doubt anything good will happen,” His opponent from yesterday promptly smacked him over the head as he walked by, both him and Colin sharing a mutual ‘fuck you’ in obscene gestures before the man climbed onto the stage, “Except maybe Scott. He’s alright,” Colin said before raising his voice, “Hear that Scott? You son of a bitch!” Manic smiles and more obscenities were shared before Colin collapsed back into his seat, “You hear that? He called me a drunk.”

“You _are_ drunk,” Felix replied.

“I’m on my day off! And besides, its part of the Goldsmith image,” Colin explained, gesturing to his dilapidated outfit, “I’m-a runaway rich boy turned fight-nut.”

Felix smirked, “Yeah. Goldsmith. Came up with it on the spot, right?”

Colin sputtered, waving his hand dismissively in Felix’s face, “Malcolm doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just jealous that he’s not a Gold anymore,” He stretched over Felix, purposely clinking their bottles together before throwing his hand up, beer splashing all over both of them, “Come on, let’s not talk about that hard-ass. We’re here to watch some Slaughter in a Square!” Raising both fist, Colin let out a loud ‘whoo’, the entire crowd echoing it back to him before he threw himself back into a folding chair, “Ric Flair.”

Felix nodded, indulgent smile on his face as he pretended to know what he was talking about.

It was high voltage in the performers’ section, every man breaking cans of beers against their foreheads and bottles on the ground with every stunt, every intense spot. Chants amongst the crowds were started and ended with the performers with Colin leading most of the ‘Scott is garbage’ chants.

In the middle of a breather match while the stage crew cleaned up the leftover scraps, Felix finally noticed the arm slung around the back of his chair. He lowered his beer, eyes wide when he noticed how close Colin had shifted over.

“You still working on that beer?” Colin asked, slurring and slumping over Felix’s shoulder, “I bet iss flat now. Let me get you another one,” Reaching over to his colleague, Colin plucked a fresh can from his hands, popped it open with his other hand, and immediately poured it down his own throat. Felix couldn’t help but laugh even as Colin and his neighbour broke out into a fist fight.

The intermission turned out to be a bigger show than the actual match. The performers’ section immediately turned into a playful yet still violent brawl with the crowd cheering them on as they threw each other into metal chairs and shot each other with foamy beers. Amidst the chaos, just before one performer accidentally pulled Felix into the tussle with a spray of beer to the face, Colin leapt in the way, tackling Felix onto his back and losing his balance while he was propped above him, beer splashing all over his leather jacket but completely leaving Felix dry.

Colin remained propped up, silly smile on his face even with a spot of blood on his forehead, “Saved you.”

Felix raised a brow, nodding towards the puddle of beer and dirt that Colin ended up tackling him into, “Yeah,” He said slowly, “My hero,” Feeling returning to his hands, blood pounding in his veins, Felix reached out to Colin, taking him by the fringe and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The man above him, drunk but lucid enough to know what happened, stared at Felix in confusion, “Heat of the moment?” Colin whispered, pulling Felix’s hair back, waiting patiently for his response.

_Lying whore._

_Shut your mouth!_

_You’re too friendly with Colin._

_Why did you lock your phone?_

_Stop talking to Rufio!_

_I should get you fixed in the head._

Felix took a breath, speaking over all the voices in his head, “No.”

Colin smiled back, leaning in and breathing in fresh dirt, spilt beer, and Felix’s natural musk, “Good.”

 

For the first time in forever, Felix felt alive.

 

There was something oddly serene watching the stage crew take apart the Square of Slaughter ring. Just moments ago, shards and scraps were commonplace; beer cans and paper cups littered the dirt like plants that were always meant to be there. Now, with the electricity from the crowd gone, the fervor of the performers dissipated, everything was set back into reality. Felix sat far from the arena, sitting on the back of a pickup truck on a woolen blanket with Colin sleeping peacefully beside him.

“Make sure he sleeps on his side,” Scott said, walking by with a couple planks of wood over his shoulder, “He’s always been a party animal.”

Before Felix could respond, Colin had propped himself up and jutted an accusatory finger at him, “ _You’re_ a party animal.”

Scott shrugged back in response, opting to do his job instead of wasting his time chatting with Colin. This left Felix and Colin alone once more on the back of a pickup truck, both curled up in a blanket covered in blue stars, trying to guess what the other was thinking.

 _Felix cheated on Malcolm_. After everything Malcolm did to contain him, _control him_ , Felix ended up running into another man’s arms anyway. Yet, despite all the guilt and self-loathing Malcolm heaped on him, Felix couldn’t feel anything but peacefulness. _At peace_ , Felix looked to Colin, realizing that was the best way to describe his time with Colin. Despite the drunken stupor and violent games, Felix was at peace with him. After being numb for so long since Peter broke his heart, after Malcolm started beating him, it felt good to finally get away.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Felix narrowed his eyes in confusion, finding confusion and almost sorry in Colin’s eyes.

“I know what you’re going through and I did it anyway. Couldn’t even stop myself. _God_ , I’m an animal. No self control whatsoever,” Colin muttered, slurring and unfocused, “Scott’s right. Malcolm’s right.”

 “…Don’t ever say that.”

“I hurt you. _Fuck_ , I knew about everything and I did it anyway. I did it anyway.”

“Stop,” Felix murmured, grabbing onto Colin’s shoulders, “Stop it. You didn’t do anything wrong. If _anything,_ I’m the one who—“

“You did nothing wrong,” Colin said suddenly, voice solemn if not slightly slurring, “You did nothing wrong,” He repeated.

Felix didn’t realize how good those words felt. His hands dropped slowly, eyes remained locked on Colin’s, “Neither did you,” Felix said, making sure Colin understood his intention. Heat of the moment, lust, desperation, comfort, this was all of that and Felix made sure Colin understood. They both knew this was the most pleasure either of them had felt in a while and after everything Felix had been through, was it truly so wrong to seek this kind of comfort?

Colin nodded back at him, the buzz of alcohol fading as the rest of his body woke up. He lifted one hand, stroking Felix’s still bruised sides, “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Felix replied, rubbing at the mildly aching ribs, “I’ll manage. Beer numbed it.”

Colin chuckled lightly as he lay back staring at the sky, “Beer fixes everything,” He shifted away slowly, giving Felix space to lay down beside him and watch the stars, “So, what do you think of Square of Slaughter?”

“Reminds me of high school, in a good way,” Felix replied, rubbing absently at his sides, “I used to be just like you: Wild, violent, bloodthirsty. In all good ways, of course,” He quickly added with a joking tone, appreciating the tiny hum Colin responded with, “I partied every night with my friends, usually just hanging around on the beach or a parking lot. Stole a car from the orphanage I stayed in.”

A chuckle, “Oh my.”

Felix smirked at his reaction, “We were pretty much a gang. I’m pretty sure we smuggled alcohol into a school party before, blackmailed a good number of teachers. I almost got expelled several times for getting into fights but Peter always weaseled us both out of it.”

“Peter? My nephew?” Colin said. Felix hesitated to reply and Colin caught onto that right away, clearing his throat loudly, “I doubt you were nearly as bad as when I was in high school. I was such a wreck, the Golds sent me away before I could embarrass them. Didn’t stop me from embarrassing them though, I dropped out,” He flexed an arm, “Started my own private fighting ring, made a living off bets. Square of Slaughter caught wind of it, hired me and a couple guys on, I left on a permanent road trip with them and that was that.”

“Malcolm didn’t mention that you dropped out,” Felix said, genuinely curious.

Colin chuckled loudly, “That’s because I never told him. Didn’t want the Golds finding out and sending me back to Storybrooke. The fighting ring was perfectly fine for them to know about.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t kick you out of the family,” Felix said.

Colin shrugged, folding his arms behind his head, “I never used their money other than the first bit to set me up while I was in school. I never bothered the Head of the family with stupid demands. I’m outside of Storybrooke which means I can’t besmirch their name. I guess they just figured it wasn’t an issue,” Chuckling, licking at an empty beer can he found beside his head, Colin promptly threw it over the truck side and fell back onto the blanket, “That’s my shitty life.”

“It sounds like a good life,” Felix replied, “Sounds like something the old me would’ve liked.”

“Then why not go back to the old you?” Colin asked, staring into Felix’s eyes with the utmost sincerity, “You like violence. You like excitement. You don’t crave a cushy, high-rolling, spoiled life. Square of Slaughter would be perfect for you. I mean, you don’t have to start off as a competitor. You could be part of stage crew or the medical staff.”

Chest heavy, mind muddled with alcohol, Felix reached out to Colin, brushing his cheek with his knuckles. He was genuinely thankful to him, genuinely happy that someone was here with him, _caring for him_. The bitter cold of winter air that never left Felix’s body since the day Malcolm beat him to a pulp for calling Rufio was finally dissipating. His cry for help finally answered.

But he couldn’t say yes and Colin didn’t understand why.

 

The sun was nearly up by the time Felix returned him, getting driven back by Scott who remained firmly away from alcohol as one of their top performers. Malcolm was still in the guest room; Felix could hear him snoring when he came up. Shedding his clothes and giving his hair a quick soak in the sink, Felix slinked back into bed and fell asleep on contact.

If Felix concentrated, he could still feel Colin’s body over his, protecting him, _loving him_.

It was no surprise to him that he’d dream of Colin, the young man like a youthful, healthier Malcolm or an older, refined Peter, a careful middle point that Felix always craved. He stood before him, dressed in his worn but soft leather jacket, black beater and jeans fraying at the knees. He reached out to Felix, called out to him, beckoning him forward even as the snowstorm got worse. Like a beacon of light, Felix followed him throughout the snowfall, fought against brutal wind that threatened to turn his lips and fingers blue, reaching, _desperate to escape_.

But the moment their hands made contact, Felix’s eyes flickered up to see _Peter_ , a child sitting on his windowsill, a devil waiting to kill him slowly and softly for nineteen years, clinging onto his hand like a pair of shackles.

Felix blinked and saw Malcolm instead, clinging to his wrist till it bruised. The storm got worse, snow pelting him like ice pellets, burying him. Eyes snapped open, the white emptiness disappearing, cold sweat on his skin fading into existence. He flinched when he noticed the warm body beside him, blue-green eyes flickering to him and wrinkling with amusement.

“You’re awake,” Malcolm greeted with a shrill giggle, “Slept in quite a bit. Thought I’d let you rest,” Felix swallowed dryly, trying to hide himself under the blanket. He hadn’t forgotten what Malcolm tried to do and the older man was aware, “Felix, Let me make it up to you,” He reached over, pulling the blanket back so he could stroke Felix’s cheek, “I got tickets for a slasher flick. And made a reservation at Pop’s Pizza Joint. And to finish the night, I ordered the finest bottle of champagne from the brewery!”

Long ago, Felix remembered how much he enjoyed watching slasher movies. It was a long-standing tradition for him and the Lost Boys to seek out the worst, cheesiest slasher flick they could find. He was surprised Malcolm remembered this, “I love slasher movies,” Felix muttered, shutting his eyes when Malcolm leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Good,” Malcolm replied, filled with concern as he cradled Felix’s face, “Anything to make you happy.”

 

Filled with pizza as they found their seats in the theatre, Malcolm was busy indulging himself on popcorn drenched in butter and gummy bears while Felix simply nursed a coke in his hands. Felix smiled as he watched Malcolm, forever amused by a grown man nibbling away at snacks like a child. It was _endearing_ to watch and an utter shock whenever he’d find those hands around his neck.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked, noticing the sudden change in Felix’s mood.

“Nothing,” Felix said, almost whispering as he tore away, taking a large gulp of his coke.

“No. It isn’t,” Malcolm said, reaching up to stroke Felix’s shoulder, “What did I do? Please tell me.”

In an earlier time, Felix may have lashed out at him, called him out for all the bullshit he heaped upon him. With experience, Felix realized it wasn’t worth the effort, “Nothing,” He repeated, letting Malcolm drape an arm around him as the lights dimmed.

This movie certainly would have been in contention for the cheesiest slasher flick amongst the Lost Boys. Felix was honestly laughing with Malcolm of all people in his presence, the older man’s arm around him and squeezing him between shouts and laughs, the older man wrinkling his nose in an utterly adorable way whenever something drew a reaction from Felix. From the look in Malcolm’s eyes, anyone could tell that he absolutely _adored_ Felix, hanging onto every little reaction from him like he was starving from it.

“That was fun,” Malcolm said, chuckling heartily as the lights came back on and the credits exploded into computer generated blood stains.

Felix nodded quickly, bright, toothy smile plastered over his face. He stared at Malcolm, both silent before Felix continued, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“No problem,” Malcolm replied, eyes wrinkling almost shut, “I always forget how much I love slasher flicks. It always works as working out my frustrations.”

“Then maybe we should come here more often,” Felix said, snickering, honestly meaning his comment to be innocent but immediately drawing heat from Malcolm. His eyes flickered to the ground, head bowed, submissive when he noticed Malcolm falling silent.

Startling Felix, Malcolm suddenly embraced him, empty bag of popcorn falling to the ground, “I love it when you smile, when you laugh, _everything_ ,” He sighed into Felix’s ear, waiting for their eyes to meet before continuing, “I know I’m a _difficult_ person but never doubt that I am madly in love with you.”

Felix swallowed, hands coming up and planting themselves in odd spots behind his back as if the embrace was unfamiliar, “I know.”

“Every time I hurt you, every time I lose control, I swear I never mean it. Every single time, I hate myself,” Malcolm said in a hushed whisper, waiting for people to empty the theatre before continuing, “But I can’t change who I am.”

Screaming inside, voices crying and begging and wailing inside of Felix, the broken boy could only manage a dismissive hum, “You’re passionate. And I knew that when… when I fell in love with you.”

The kiss with slow, romantic, if not for the thoughts racing through Felix’s head, his eyes just barely open, staring at Malcolm and seeing his hopeless future, chained to a man that would never break his heart in the way Peter had but would be more than willing to break it in other ways, covering up bullet holes and knife wounds with kind words and sweet gestures. But Felix knew this wasn’t his only future, knew that another path had opened.

Even while he spoke with Malcolm, indulged his jokes over champagne and a fast food dinner, the thoughts refused to stop.

“Come on, I got another bottle back here,” Malcolm said, giggling playfully as he emptied the first champagne bottle into Felix’s glass and quickly popping open another.

Felix chuckled lightly, nursing the glass before snacking on a fry, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Thought you enjoyed drinking?” Malcolm asked, brow perking up in inquiry, “You smelled of beer when I found you in bed,” Felix stiffened, his whole body frozen as he awaited Malcolm’s response, “It’s not your fault. I understand. I was terrible to you.”

Felix shook his head, taking another sip to give himself bravery, “Stop. We’re not talking about that right now. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

Malcolm nearly leapt at him, pressing a kiss to his lips, a spot of ketchup on his beard staining Felix’s chin, “That we will,” He took a bite from his chicken nugget, pouring himself a glass of wine from another bottle.

“This is really good,” Felix said, finishing his own glass and tasting the new wine Malcolm had poured.

“Only the best,” Malcolm replied, already filling Felix’s glass despite taking only a sip from it.

Felix chuckled, voice airy and soft, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”

Malcolm leaned in, noses touching as he cooed back, “It worked the first time, didn’t it?” His hand came forward, stroking Felix’s wrist intimately, sending chills down Felix’s spine.

 _Malcolm wanted sex_ and that thought killed the buzz in Felix’s veins. Why did Felix think he’d be allowed to have such a joyful day without compensation? He swallowed, unsure if his unease came from last night with Malcolm or _last night with Colin_ , “I’m not in the mood.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked, suddenly somber, alert.

Felix held his breath, trying to find the words, “I just—don’t…”

“I’ll be good tonight. Won’t do anything you don’t want to,” Malcolm reassured, taking Felix’s other hand, holding them together, “Please. Let me make you feel good. Let me rekindle our relationship.”

Felix couldn’t explain the _guilt_ Malcolm seemed to imply with his words. His hands were shaking under Malcolm’s, afraid to set him off, afraid to give up his body to someone who hurt him. When Malcolm refused to back down, when his gaze went from imploring to stubborn, Felix reached for the bottle beside them and poured Malcolm another glass.

“I’m not buzzed enough yet,” Felix said, “Let’s finish the bottle and then have some fun.”

Somehow, Malcolm fell for it and two bottles later, the older man had to be dragged up the staircase and thrown into bed. Felix was in no better shape, barely able to stay on his feet as he stumbled into the room, collapsing onto the bed when his feet slipped over Malcolm’s slippers. He coughed loudly, a heavy weight in his chest. He looked over to the clock, realizing Malcolm had stayed up much later than he usually did.

Realizing he had wasted so much time and missed so much of Square of Slaughter, the thought almost brought Felix to tears. He leapt to his feet, nearly sprinting out until he felt a hand around his wrist, holding him in place. Felix turned, heart stopping when he saw Malcolm _glaring_ at him through reddened eyes and a drunken stupor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He grumbled out.

Felix stuttered, a thousand denials on his tongue but unable to choke a single one out.

“I knew it. _I knew it_ ,” Malcolm growled over and over again, other hand reaching out and grabbing Felix’s neck, yanking him down, “You lying, cheating—“ Eyes rolling up, both hands loosening and falling to the bed, Malcolm had finally passed out completely.

The peace, the playful mood, Malcolm’s sweetness, Felix could never allow himself to forget the suffering that came with it, how everything could turn against Felix in a second. He made that mistake with Peter, let him be pulled along with implicit promises and friendly words, cajoled into being his pet for years and years, waiting for a prize that would never come. Felix learned by now. Felix wasn’t a fool anymore. _Felix wouldn’t fall for this ever again_.

Collapsing against a fence, the Square of Slaughter crowd was walking past him. The show was over but Felix kept moving forward, head spinning, retching into the grass when no one was around. When he saw the empty ring, he shuffled his way over to the barn, searching the medics until he saw Colin by a nurse, picking bits of glass out from his back.

“Felix,” Colin called out, waving to him and flinching when he noticed how Felix swayed and stuttered, “Hey, you alright?” He reached forward when Felix swayed only to be swatted away.

Felix shook his head, mind muddled and slow, “S-Stop it. I don’t want you!” He gasped, surprised at how _hurt_ Colin looked but before he could process anything, the world blackened around him. The last thing he could hear was Colin shouting for medics.

 

When he awoke, the sky was still dark. Felix’s fears of being discovered dissolved. On his side, Felix blinked several times to adjust to the dim lamps hanging around the barn. He flexed his hand twice, counted to ten in his head, mentally checking that the worst of the alcohol had passed. His hangover would be absolute hell but at least for now, he was manageable.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Felix blinked, shifting his gaze upward to see Colin at the head of the bed, playing some game on his phone, “Colin?”

“You did it wrong. You’re supposed to get drunk _at_ the show,” Colin joked, chuckles dying when he noticed Felix not laughing along, “Sorry. Bad joke. Did something happen?” Felix said nothing, simply laying on his side and staring out into the field.

Colin couldn’t let this go on anymore, finding himself in pain at Felix’s suffering, “You know, when I was younger, I used to think Malcolm was the greatest thing ever,” Felix perked at his words, eyes flickering up at him, listening attentively, “My oldest brother never paid any attention to me. I never paid him any attention either; I don’t even know what his first name is. Malcolm wasn’t like that though. He was always amused by my stories, always joining me on my ‘adventures’, the fighting ring, everything,” He leaned against the stretcher, head resting right beside Felix’s, “But the older I got, the more I realized he didn’t hang around me because he enjoyed my company. He liked hanging around me because it made _him_ feel better about himself. He thought I was a worthless deadbeat and it made him happy in comparison. It was only after he got kicked out of the family did he treat me better, probably wanted to keep me as a lifeline in case the worst happened. Not that I minded, I see him once a year and get free beer. He can think whatever the hell he wants of me,” He turned to Felix, noticing how he hadn’t taken his eyes off Colin the entire time, “I figured that’s why he joined my fighting ring too. He was a grown man fighting high school drop outs who hadn’t been in a real fight in their entire lives.”

Felix stared at him, wide-eyed, emotionless, as Colin closed in, on his knees so they were eye level, “What I’m saying is, Malcolm is not a good person and you don’t need to hide that.”

In his frenzied mind, muddled from alcohol, abuse, and never-ending trauma, Felix could find no other response except to burst into tears yet nothing came out. In the deepest part of him, he wondered if Colin would despise him for crying too like Peter had for so many years, like Malcolm had when he beat him to the point where he couldn’t take it.

Well into the night, most performers having returned to their motels or trailers, Felix and Colin remained by the barn, sitting on a couple chairs left behind from the show. Colin returned to their seats with a red paper cup of water which Felix accepted readily, drinking it slowly. After Felix finished the drink, Colin sat down beside him, slumped on his folding chair, waiting attentively for Felix to speak.

“You know,” Felix started, voice choking in his throat, pausing to take a breath and collect himself, “You know, I thought the same thing about Malcolm, thought he was the greatest thing ever. After I had a… falling out with Peter, Malcolm was there to catch me. He took care of me, protected me, told me everything I wanted to hear,” His expression faltered, cracks appearing in his carefully cultivated apathy, “But then Peter got married. John left the city to concentrate on his family business. All my friends moved on. I was all alone. That’s when it all began: When I had no where else to go.”

Colin remained quiet, watching Felix patiently, taking the paper cup from his hands when his fingers began to tremble.

“Every time he beat me, even though he never said it aloud, I knew he was taunting me for having no one to go to. I either put up with his beatings or I would live on the streets,” Felix rested his forehead against his hands, breathing slowly, “There was a time I was so desperate to get away, I wanted to kill myself. I thought it’d be a wakeup call for Malcolm, thought he’d change his ways, but it’s all still the same.”

Colin shook his head, “People don’t change, Felix. If you want change to happen, you need to do it yourself.”

“How?” Felix mumbled, “I’ve got no where to go.”

“Come with me. Forget about Storybrooke, forget about Malcolm, join Square of Slaughter and live on the road forever,” Colin said, gesturing to the trailers and trucks, “We’re always in need of stage crew. You won’t make a huge amount of money but you’ll make enough to get by, enough to take care of yourself.”

Felix’s expression was more painful than his words, “I can’t.”

Colin wanted to grab him and shake him, “Malcolm won’t change. Things won’t get better with him. You understand that, don’t you?” When Felix’s resolve remained unchanged, Colin tried throwing everything at him to persuade him, unable to understand why he resisted this so much, “The Malcolm from the past, the Malcolm that took you in and pretended to adore you, he’s gone. No matter how long you hang around him, that Malcolm won’t come back because he was never real.”

“It’s not that!” Felix shouted suddenly, his expression almost difficult to look at as he took Colin by the shoulders, “The last time someone came into my life when I was at my lowest, last time someone promised to take me away from all my pain, I ended up worse, so much worse than the first time this happened to me,” Peter beckoning him out the window. Malcolm tearing him away from Peter. Every step forward was another step deeper into Hell. He was shaking his head, releasing Colin’s shoulders and resting all his weight on his knees, “I can’t let this happen again.”

“The devil you know,” Colin whispered, “Is better than the devil you don’t.”

Felix let out a dry laugh. Every path Felix had taken led only to more misery and pain. Now that he had another choice, Felix was absolutely paralyzed with fear. He didn’t know it was possible to fear something more than Malcolm.

“But, he’s still the devil regardless,” Colin said, lifting Felix’s head, “What about this? Tomorrow night, I’ll speak to the manager, get you a job here. You can follow us for a trip and if you don’t like it, I’ll set you up with some money to get you settled somewhere. You can go to college, take on an apprenticeship, university, anything you want. But, if you like Square of Slaughter, you can stick around.”

“How is that possible?” Felix asked, oddly curious on where Colin expected to get the money for this.

Colin, reading his expression, merely replied with a cheeky smile, “Don’t forget. I’m the _Gold_ smith.”

At those innocent yet powerful words, Felix was able to laugh again despite the weight of the world crushing him.  

 

_“And your winner is, the Goldsmith!”_

Felix was transfixed on the video, blood draining from his skin as Colin marched through the crowd and planted a kiss on him, bodies pressed together intimately and on full display for anyone who purchased an online copy on Square of Slaughter.

The laptop slammed shut when the video ended, startling Felix into a full-body flinch. He remained absolutely still where he was seated on the bed, eyes fixed on the back of the laptop while Malcolm towered over him, “I knew you were going out. I _knew_ you were going to see Square of Slaughter but I had faith in you. And _this_ is how you repay me?” His breath was hissing out his nose, sounding more like a snarl than anything, “Answer me!” He snarled, grabbing his laptop and hurling it into Felix’s lap, sending a jolt of pain through his thighs.

“He kissed me. I didn’t kiss him,” Felix stuttered out.

“You’re a liar,” Malcolm said in reply.

“I didn’t kiss back,” Felix kept at it, eyes shut.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care that you don’t believe me!” Felix shouted, terrified when Malcolm took him by the chin, nearly bruising his jaw.

Malcolm pressed his face close, breath hot against Felix’s face, “You _should_!”

“Do you blame me for wanting to get away from you after _everything_ you’ve done?” Felix shouted back, feeling Malcolm breathe down his throat.

The more Felix spoke, the livider Malcolm became, “You kiss my brother and I’m the one in the wrong here?”

“I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me,” Felix choked out, eyes shut, unable to keep up with Malcolm, “There were medics at the show and they patched me up. That’s why I was there,” Felix groaned when Malcolm dug his fingers further into his jaw, “P-Please, please _stop_. You’re losing control.”

“I’m _passionate_ , remember?” Malcolm hissed into his face, letting go and pacing, “How long has this been happening? Since Colin first visited us?” Felix nodded back dumbly, posture crumpled, trying to shrink himself down and away from Malcolm’s gaze, “Was it because he’s younger? Because he’s a _Gold_? Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

“I just—“ Felix started, immediately choking on his voice when Malcolm met his eyes, “I was getting smothered by you. I just needed some space.”

“Don’t you dare pin this on me!” Malcolm growled, “You cheated on me, you lying whore!” He shoved Felix backwards onto the bed, letting the laptop slide onto the blankets. He stopped before he continued his assault, looking puzzled and then suddenly angry, “Did he fuck you?”

Felix didn’t know how to reply, finding no answer that could satisfy Malcolm.

“Did he fuck you?” Malcolm repeated. Eyes manic and wild, more so than any of the performers at Square of Slaughter.

Leaping away, answering Malcolm’s question without words, Felix slid off the bed and tried his best to dive around him, getting caught around the waist and thrown against the door instead, Malcolm pinning him against it hard and grabbing onto his neck, holding it tight in place while Felix quaked in fear beneath him.

“After everything I’ve done for you,” Malcolm hissed, sounding more like a sob than anything, “You ungrateful _bitch_.”

Felix stared into his eyes, seeing nothing but all the suffering he’d gone through. It was almost criminal for Malcolm to share the same eyes as his younger brother, “Do you blame me for wanting to get away from you?” He nearly screamed when Malcolm’s hand closed around his jaw, distorting his face, Malcolm’s nose pressed into his cheek as he stared into Felix’s eyes, “You’re a _monster_.”

 “Shut up,” Malcolm muttered, his final words before grabbing Felix’s shoulder and shoving him forward, past the carpeted floor and _down the stairs._

Arm caught at a strange angle, legs tangled with each other slipping at every attempt to find purchase, the pain in his ribs erupting once more as it collided again and again into the steps, a splintered corner scraping across Felix’s face, a tragic keepsake for Malcolm’s terrible actions. By the time Felix reached the bottom, he couldn’t move his body without pain lancing up any part of it. Blood clouded his vision, red fading into darkness. The shock of Malcolm’s actions knocked him out harder than the fall ever could.

 

The next time Felix awoke, he was back in bed, too smart to believe that this could have just been a nightmare. His right arm and leg were both in a cast, a thick bandage taped over his face to seal the awful splintered gash. He tried to move his left hand but found his fingers taped up, no doubt broken during the fall. Any movement that jostled his ribs sent a crippling pain throughout his body. He couldn’t even yawn without his body screaming in pain.

Felix couldn’t fight the full body flinch when the bedroom door opened, Malcolm walking in with a tray of food, saying something but Felix couldn’t catch it, couldn’t hear anything except the pounding of his heart. He tried to speak but found his teeth chattering too much, his lips trembling. It only worsened when Malcolm tried to feed him soup, teeth clattering against the metal when Malcolm forced him to eat.

Malcolm waited attentively, pulling away the spoon, watching Felix sit there dumbly with a mouth full of vegetable soup. He waited for Felix to swallow; he waited for Felix to _obey_. With the last of his pride, Felix spat the soup back into Malcolm’s face, glaring at Malcolm behind bandages and swollen flesh.

Malcolm held nothing back when he struck him clean across the face, shattering the last of Felix’s pride, proving that it really could get much, _much_ worse.

 

With a violent gasp, waking from a dreamless sleep, Felix sprung awake in the dead of night. He blinked, seeing Malcolm beside him, the curtains drawn against moonlight. It was well into the night; Felix wasn’t even sure when he fell asleep. He tried to move the bandage from his eyes, lifting his left hand and immediately jostling his broken fingers, sharp, near unbearable pain pulsating up his arm. He dropped it immediately onto the bed, whining in pain involuntarily.

Eyes flickering to the clock on the bedstead, he shuddered when he realized that it was well past midnight, well past Square of Slaughter’s show time. His body was heavy and broken, shattering with every step, but Felix kept moving forward, kept crawling towards the bathroom. He collapsed onto the counter, nothing but pain overriding his thoughts. He couldn’t even feel the cold tiles of the bathroom floor under his good foot. He grabbed at the medicine cabinet, slapping at it with his broken fingers, barely rattling the lock with all his strength.

“Please, _please_ ,” Felix begged no one for mercy, slamming his already broken hand against the medicine cabinet, _desperate to end the pain_ , “Please!” He screamed, voice hoarse as he began to lose feeling in his broken fingers.

A firm hand came around his left wrist, pulling him back into a strong body that scooped him around the waist. Felix didn’t fight, knew it would do him no good, letting Malcolm bring him back to bed.

“Please,” Felix begged, his last-ditch effort.

As Felix expected, Malcolm gave him no answer.

 

Hours after the show ended, Colin remained at the site, waiting patiently. When he was absolutely sure Felix was not going to show up, Colin knew foul play was at hand. Not taking any chances, resting for the night so he’d be at full strength, chugging a beer to focus him, Colin made his way to Malcolm’s house, nearly kicking down the door as he stormed in.

“Where’s Felix?” He barked, rushing into the kitchen when he saw his brother and forcing his way into his brother’s breathing space, “Where’s Felix?”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes at his reaction. With anyone else, Malcolm would’ve played the fool, would’ve played coy and toyed with them. Towards Colin, his _stupid, younger brother_ , Malcolm had no such mood or patience, “How dare you talk to me in that tone.”

“Where’s Felix?” Colin repeated, slow, dangerous, eyes carefully watching Malcolm harden his stance, tighten his fists. Colin almost laughed at him, “You really think you can take me on? Years ago, I might’ve lost because you were older and bigger. But I’ve been fighting for years while you settled down and got fat and lazy,” He tightened his fist, eyes wide and wild, a threat without words.

Intimidated, but refusing to let it show, Malcolm backed off silently, a strained, fake smile on his face as he led Colin upstairs, opening the bedroom door, “Colin’s here,” He called out, “Say hello, Felix.”

When Colin laid eyes on Felix’s catatonic, broken form, eyes empty as they scanned the room and found him, his mind shut down completely, unable to react, unable to formulate his next actions, unable to understand how he truly felt for Felix in this singular moment.

“What happened to you?” Malcolm asked, kneeling on the bed, laying a hand on Felix’s good leg.

Felix didn’t make eye contact with anyone, his gaze dull and empty as he stared at the insipid soap opera playing on the TV, “I tripped down the stairs.”

Malcolm stroked the good side of his face, a bruise purpling over the flesh across from the horrible gash on his other cheek, “Let me get your pills,” He stood, smile on his face before Colin punched him in the face, holding nothing back, giving Malcolm a taste of his own medicine, climbing onto him and beating him over and over, nothing like the entertainer that performed in Square of Slaughter, going right back to the brutality that got him expelled.

Pulling away from his trembling brother, Colin stumbled backwards, fists bloodied and bruised. He threw his head back, smiling like a maniac, fighting the urge to laugh, so goddamn excited, filled with such _euphoria_ that he nearly forgot why he exploded in the first place. When the afterglow died and Colin remembered why he was here, his gaze fell upon Felix who watched him in shock, unsure if he was pleased or terrified.  

“Felix?” Colin cautioned forward.

Broken fingers reached forward, shaky smile on his face, “Let’s go,” Felix whispered through a swollen lip.

Colin nodded, stepping over his older brother who growled and grumbled, reaching at his ankles when he walked back. He took Felix away, becoming the first person to leave this house with Felix without Malcolm latched onto him like a scourge.

 

“Careful, careful,” Colin mumbled as the medic slowly removed the bandage from Felix’s face.

Felix hissed as the article was removed, feeling the cloth sticky on his face, “How bad is it?” Even as he spoke, the delicate movement in his face irritated the gash on his face. Colin said nothing, given him an awkward smile that confirmed his fears.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” Colin commented, letting the medic concentrate on redoing the bandages properly, “But, it’ll leave a mark for sure.”

A heavy sigh, “I’ll live through it.”

When the medic finished, the reassessment of Felix’s injuries proved to be far less severe than thought. His right leg was still broken, Malcolm’s blue-netted cast remained on his leg. The sling on his right arm could be removed, leaving just a simple cast around his forearm, the fracture upon it much less severe than Malcolm had assumed. Only the index and middle finger had fractures while the rest of his fingers were simply tender from the fall. At the very least, he had at least some basic movement left in one hand, his two broken fingers taped together to protect them.

The gash on his face though, a disfiguration that ran down his forehead and across his right cheek, was the most devastating injury on Felix, Malcolm’s mark on him forever engraved onto his face for everyone to see. Felix couldn’t stop himself from staring at his reflection any time he caught it on any surface.

“Stop,” Colin said, turning Felix away from the kitchen counter where he saw his bandaged face, “Don’t look at it. Don’t even think about it.”

“How can I?” Felix murmured, “He mutilated me. Malcolm ruined me. How can I walk around town now with Malcolm’s mark on my face? Everyone will see it. Everyone will judge me. They’ll judge me more than they already do. It’s impossible--” Felix paused when Colin placed a hand on his chest, a pill bottle pressing against his collarbone. Felix stared at him, confused briefly until he felt his breathing slow. Felix closed his eyes and took the bottle of painkillers, the lid already taken off, “…Thanks.”

Colin nodded back, adjusting himself on the stool while Felix remained sitting on the bed. Taking the painkillers, willing himself to calm down, Felix carefully lay back in the bed. When his heart rate slowed to a normal pace after the pills dulled his pain, Felix was finally able to take in exactly where he was.

He was dizzy when Colin brought him to the site of Square of Slaughter but he knew well enough where he was. Colin had taken him to one of the trailers in the back. Scott had greeted them when they came in, no doubt the owner of the trailer given that he was the only one with a car to drive it around.

“Why are we in Scott’s trailer?” Felix mumbled lazily, head lolling over to stare at Colin who remained on his stool.

“I can’t possibly have you sleep in my car,” Colin replied, a small smile on his face when Felix’s brow furrowed.

“You sleep in your car?” Felix asked.

“I have an apartment in New York,” Colin quickly corrected, “But when I’m on tour, I usually sleep in my car or share a motel room with someone. It’s expensive being on the road,” His smile widened, “I mean, if I had someone who’d split a motel room with me at every show, I could stop living out of my car.”

Felix let out a short laugh, dry and almost scratchy as it agitated his broken ribs, “I wouldn’t mind living out of a car.”

“Yeah, but it has to fit both of us comfortably,” Colin said, shifting his stool over so he could recline against the wall.

In this moment of safety, hidden far and away from Malcolm, Felix honestly felt like he could throw everything away and run off with Colin right now, live his life as stage crew for Square of Slaughter just as Colin said. Felix could envision it in his mind, could see a happy future, but he had to ground himself, had to remember that this was just a fantasy. The perfect Colin he saw now was just a fantasy; everyone had their flaws.

“Back then,” Felix started, sitting up slowly so he could be at eye level with Colin, “When you were fighting Malcolm,” Colin knew exactly what he was going to say before he even started, “You… _enjoyed_ that, didn’t you?”

Enjoyment. Euphoria. Excitement. Not because he was avenging Felix, not because he was finally unleashing all the latent disgust he had for his brother, “Yes,” Colin replied, head bowed, “Just as much as I love Square of Slaughter and my fighting ring back in high school. I fucking loved it,” He noticed uncertainty in Felix’s gaze, “I can’t get excitement like a normal person. I need death matches so I can feel _alive._ Violence gets me hard like nothing else. And when I’m not fighting, I drink myself into a stupor so I don’t have to deal with the boredom. I need _this_ like humans need air to live,” He raised his fists, the bruises and scrapes on his knuckles cherished like trophies, “Unless a fight can solve it, I can’t be your backbone. I’m not your solution.”

Felix couldn’t understand why Colin was admitting to these horrible truths, “Why are you saying all of this?”

“Because I want you to see the whole picture before you make a choice,” Colin said slowly.

He didn’t need Colin to be his backbone, not anymore. All the hardships he had gone through built one for him. With all the cards visible, with a mind hardened with terrible experience, Felix pushed forward confident, “I’m okay with that.”

With those simple words, the haze between them lifted. Felix’s choice, the first one he would make with complete clarity, gave them freedom to speak like an unwritten rule. Colin told him everything about him, the third child of the Gold family who grew into violent, garish tastes, embracing himself and living out a life as a high-action combatant.

It was only fair Felix told him everything as well.

For hours, over Chinese takeout and cheap beer found in Scott’s fridge, Felix told his story to Colin. From the day Peter found him, the days Malcolm attempted to groom him, the trauma Felix suppressed until Malcolm’s beatings brought them back, Felix didn’t miss a single detail. Felix spoke of Peter Pan, spoke of how he started the Lost Boys and gave Felix the greatest years of his life. Every day, Felix _begged_ for Peter to respond to his feelings, to take him as a lover would. Felix deluded himself into believing that perseverance would cause Peter to reciprocate his feelings so he kept following Peter until the day Peter grew up and no longer had use for him. Felix was versatile; a playmate as a child; his hired muscle in high school; but his usefulness had run out when Peter ascended to university. He had no use for someone dull minded.

This was where Wendy Darling came in. She was rich, beautiful, with all the connections and power Peter needed to ascend to the next level. She became his partner, his security blanket, and Felix was left with nothing. This was where Malcolm came in, promising to give Felix what he wanted most: A confession from Peter. Like the fool he was, Felix clung onto that belief because there was nothing else for him to cling to. That was how Malcolm sunk his claws in. This was why he was here today, broken and bruised.

Felix wished John Darling was more than a footnote. He genuinely cared for Felix but he was a good man, _too good_ , and by the time Peter abandoned Felix, the lonely lost boy had hammered into his head that he didn’t _deserve_ good. He needed bad men who’d lead him on and hurt him like Peter and Malcolm. By the time Felix wanted to get away, John was gone, moved out from the city, disillusioned by his unrequited love.

All he wanted was to stop being that miserable little boy in the orphanage. In the end, all Felix wanted was a friend.

Colin listened attentively, catching everything, and before Felix could confess what he truly wanted, Colin had already answered him, “I can be your friend.”

Honestly, if Felix’s body wasn’t shattered to piece, he’d jump Colin right now out of happiness and ride him till he came like a train. From the smile in his eyes and Colin’s jittery chuckle, Felix was sure that was exactly what his expression said.

“Pass the egg rolls,” Felix said, jabbing his fork in Colin’s direction.

The conversation diverted when Scott returned with a laptop, allowing Felix to watch the show tonight without attending in person. While they were still setting up, Colin played last night’s show, catching Felix up on what matches to expect tonight, pointing out whenever someone messed up a spot, specifically pointing out all of Scott’s mistakes while the faux rival snacked on a granola bar.

Felix remained reclined on the bed, watching Colin change into his usual ring attire of black tank top and worn jeans, “I’ll be honest with you,” He said, Colin immediately looking to him to continue, “You’ve done a lot more for me than Peter’s ever had.”

Colin smirked but didn’t laugh, looking away as he fished his leather jacket out from the pile of clothes, “That’s not true. I’m sure you’ve just forgotten about everything Peter’s done,” He threw the jacket over his shoulder, “I don’t think you would have stayed with him so long otherwise.”

Felix shrugged. _Perhaps_ , but right now, it didn’t matter.

“Don’t leave the trailer, alright?” Colin said.

Felix couldn’t deny that he was still scared. Despite being hidden in a trailer, despite Colin proving that he was more than a physical match against his older brother, he couldn’t stop himself from fearing Malcolm. He figured the terror would never disappear, sitting in the back of his mind forever. Felix nodded quick, eyes empty briefly which Colin noticed right away.

“Hey,” Colin murmured, reaching forward, gentle pressure on Felix’s shoulder, “You’re going to be safe. Okay? We’re going to get out of here after the show. I’ll get the Golds to set you up. Everything will be okay.”

“What about you?” Felix asked, “He’ll come after you. He knows you’ll be here.”

Colin chuckled, flexing one arm arrogantly, “Oh please. I can take that old man on. Besides, he’s a bully. He won’t pick on someone unless he’s got an advantage,” He nodded to Scott who had finished up wrapping his knuckles with bandages and promptly stepped out, “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”  

Felix nodded and agreed even if he didn’t feel the slightest bit safe especially when Colin left the trailer. There was nothing else he could possibly do. Breathing slow, trying to calm his heartbeat, Felix propped up his broken leg on a cushioned stool, reclining back on a pile of flat pillows to reduce the pressure on his ribs, Felix kept the laptop propped up on a TV table beside him, turning up the volume when the crowd picked up, the show starting.

Colin rushed in, acting drunk and wild as he always did, a smile stretching on Felix’s face before he was even aware. The match began, no weapons, no window panes, just a straight up brawl showcasing Colin and Scott’s natural wrestling skills. The crowd popped when a steel chair was thrown into the mix and only got louder when four more people joined the fray.

Yet… Colin and Scott looked confused, breaking off from each other, Colin’s drunken demeanor immediately dropping. Felix froze, fingers trembling, eyeing the men that had joined the fray and hearing jeers and lewd remarks in the back of his head. The steel chair struck Scott hard over the head unlike any of the other spots they had done which always avoided critical spots. The man tumbled to the ground, out of the way as the four men closed in on Colin, surrounding him before he lashed out, ultimately succumbing to greater numbers despite his physical superiority.

The crowd was ablaze, cheering, screaming, unsure of whether this was real or not but bloodthirsty regardless. The commissioner came out, stage crew and other performers leaping in to save Colin and fight off the invasion. Colin lay in the center, covering his head while a fight broke out all around him, his assaulters still managing to beat him into the dirt while fending off those around him. Soon enough, the ring became a warzone and Colin was completely obscured by the people.

The trailer door rattled and Felix nearly screamed, staring at the door with wide eyes, fingers trembling. He wrestled himself out of the bed, desperate to _get away_ even when his body screamed in pain. The laptop clattered to the ground, TV table tipping over when Felix tried to use it as leverage. With one quiet metal clatter, the door swung open and Felix was petrified on the spot, staring up with wide, dilated eyes as Malcolm stepped in, makeshift lock picks in his hands.

Felix couldn’t move, couldn’t react, trying to speak but finding his tongue numb and lips trembling. He was shaking his head, begging silently as Malcolm approached him with the utmost disdain on his face. How did he find him in this trailer?

_The car attached to this trailer._

_The one that drove him home after sleeping with Colin._

_How long was Malcolm aware of this?_

“How?” Felix murmured, and that was the last thing Felix could remember before Malcolm struck him across the face.

 

Lights flashed past him. The world rocking and swaying slowly like he was on a boat or a moving car. In the moments of lucidity that Felix could force himself into, he could see the back of a car, could hear traffic all around him, the quiet purr of an engine. If he concentrated hard enough, he could see a head of greying chestnut hair in the front seat, the smell of cheap coffee and fast food emanating from the front. It was all he could manage before the pain in his abdomen and leg knocked him back out.

Before Felix could pass out this time, a bump in the road jostled his body, a sharp pain in his gut forcing him to scream and jitter, his body seizing uncontrollably as the pain got worse. The car halted, a second jolt throwing Felix off the car seats and onto the floor with a heavy groan. The door opened, hands were on him, soft leather against his back once more. The smell of forest was the last thing Felix caught before the darkness claimed him again.

 

Felix is warm, his good fingers kneading on a plush blanket. He tries to open his eyes but finds one swollen shut. He immediately closes it however, when the light from the lamp beside him blinds him. He groans and that’s all it took to draw Malcolm to him.

“You must be starving,” Malcolm whispered, his voice breaking through the quiet darkness Felix has submerged himself in, “Here. I picked up some food for you.”

A plastic spoon is placed at his lip. Felix caught the scent of chili powder right away. He opened his mouth, letting the spoon slip past his swollen lip and irritate a cut on the inside of his cheek. Gagging immediately, Felix convulsed in bed, the muscles in his face drawing stiff as spasms erupted. Malcolm’s hands were on him again, holding him still, protecting him from injuring his body from flailing but only managing to make Felix struggle harder.

“Help!” Felix screamed, broken fingers pushing into Malcolm’s chest and burning at the contact. A hand clasped over his mouth, muffling him as Malcolm wrestled him still on the bed, terror restraining him just as much as physicality did.

Malcolm pressed his face close, noses touching as he spoke slowly, “I’m going to remove my hand but only if you promise not to scream,” He paused, eyes narrowing, “Alright?”

Felix was too terrified to do anything but comply, pressing his lips together tightly.

“Good,” Malcolm said, releasing Felix and sitting back on the bed, “You haven’t eaten anything for an entire day. Here,” He slid the cup of chili over to him on the bed stand, “Eat first then rest.”

“Where are we?” Felix asked, shivering when Malcolm’s gaze fell back on him. Immediately, he reached for the cup of chili, accidentally flexing a sore muscle and recoiling. He gasped, crumpling on the bed as pain surged up his side.

Malcolm sighed, exasperated, “Don’t move. You’ll only make it worse,” He sorted through his bag, pulling out a small bottle of painkillers that Felix immediately recognized as the bottle Colin had.

“W-What did you do?” Felix said, eyes unable to leave the bottle.

“What do you mean?” Malcolm asked, honestly confused.

His hands were shaken as he spoke, “What did you do to Colin?” He could still remember the men storming the stage, men he recognized as old cohorts of Malcolm that he occasionally invited over. He could see Colin on the ground, nearly limp, helpless as he was beaten into the ground, “He’s your brother.”

“How dare you,” Malcolm hissed, fists tightening around the bottle, “After everything I’ve done for you. Was taking you into my home and taking care of you not enough? Had to run off every night to fuck my younger brother?” He stood, towering over Felix who was helpless to do anything, “Why do you hurt me like this?”

Felix wanted to scowl at him but could only manage to bear his teeth, his lip splitting at the motion, “ _Hurt you?_ What about everything you’ve done to me?”

“You made me do this!” Malcolm snarled, shouting at the top of his lungs, “You’re _sick_ in the head, Felix. You let yourself get charmed away by any fool who even shows you the slightest bit of interest. My brother might not have hurt you but what if one of his friends did? You’ve seen that crowd; they’re blood thirsty. How else was I supposed to protect you from yourself?”

Felix narrowed his still open eye, brows furrowed, “You call _this_ protecting me? You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to me!”

Hands striking the bed, shaking Felix with the aftershock and sending a jolt of pain up his body. Felix shut his eyes, groaning suddenly, barely able to take a breath as his torso flared up in pain. When he opened his eyes, Malcolm had pulled away, placing the painkillers on a shelf far away from Felix. The implications of his actions had not hit Felix right away. Only after Malcolm fell back onto the second bed and flipped on the TV, when Felix’s adrenaline had run dry, did Felix remember his most sinful rule.

“W-Wait, Malcolm,” Felix stuttered out through a split lip and swollen cheek, “Please. Please. I need—“ He reached for the shelf, the pain in his gut intensifying, spreading throughout his body, “Please. I can’t. Please. Don’t… Don’t. Please.”

Malcolm paid him no attention, treated like he wasn’t even there, simply watching TV and eating a bag of chips while reclined on the bed for hours.

In the dark of night, Felix lay there awake, moaning and whining every few seconds, pain flaring up in his body even when he remained completely still. He tried to shift his good leg onto the ground, a desperate and pointless attempt to reach the pill bottle from the shelf. All he managed to do was stub his toe on the nearby drawer. He’d mumble to Malcolm who was sleeping in the bed beside him, whispering his name and apologies but he had no response, hellbent on punishing Felix.

Exhausted but unable to sleep, body begging for reprieve and denied again and again, Felix could not think of anything else to do. In his delirium, head lolled to one side and eyes crushed tight in despair, Felix begged the phantom in his head to save him, “… Peter,” He took a stuttering breath, “Peter. Help.”

After everything Felix had said, how hard he begged and babbled for Malcolm to save him, _this_ was what drove Malcolm to action. Felix’s mouth snapped shut, watching as Malcolm removed the foam ear plugs and marched over to him. He leaned in, breathing against Felix while the boy was petrified in fear and pain, eyes wide and wild as they were locked in place by Malcolm’s gaze.

The moonlight was harsh as it reflected in Malcolm’s eyes, highlighting their glassiness. His expression was unreadable as he raised his other hand and struck Felix across the face.

 

Felix lay still as Malcolm renewed his bandages, fixing his pillow when he noticed Felix’s head beginning to loll. While he waited, Felix slowly took in his surroundings, figuring that he was at some cheap, sketchy motel that didn’t seem to mind that Malcolm carried in a severely crippled young man, “Good as new,” Malcolm said, smoothing a hand over his perfectly bandaged leg, the cast firm under his touch, “How is it?”

Felix blinked, staring at his cast, “Good.”

Malcolm smiled to him, standing up to retrieve the pill bottle from the shelf. He poured the last two pills into his hand, tossing the bottle away as he brought them over to Felix, “Here. Last ones,” More lively than he was before, Felix desperately lapped up the pills in his hands, nearly choking himself on water as he eagerly awaited the wash of numbness they brought, a momentary reprieve from his pain and situation, “I’ll get you more when we reach the next city.”

Felix looked to him, confused, “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Malcolm said, pulling out a suitcase from under the bed, something he must’ve brought in when Felix was unconscious, “We’re going to have a fresh start somewhere new, somewhere better. Away from the _Golds_ , away from everyone,” He smiled, standing up and stroking Felix’s cheek, “It’ll be great. I promise.”

“I want to know where we’re going,” Felix asked again.

Malcolm sighed heavily, “ _Away_ ,” He stepped around the bed, bending down to pull out another suitcase from under Felix’s bed, “I need you to trust me, alright? I’m doing this to protect you.”

 _Protect me?_ There was a drumming in Felix’s head; he wasn’t sure if it was coming from his body or just something in his mind, all his suppressed rage, despair, and terror finally at its limit, bursting through him. Lifting his left arm, eyeing the empty beer bottle on the bed stand, all he wanted to do was break that bottle over Malcolm’s head, twist the glass into his face, gouge out his eyes. Felix took the bottle, barely able to hold it with his crippled hand.

His hatred must’ve reflected on his face because the moment Malcolm caught his expression, his eyes flickered to the bottle and all the softness he had before died on the spot, “What do you think you were doing?” The moment Malcolm caught him, Felix had already lost.

He tried anyway, his wrist caught before he could even strike. He struggled uncontrollably, shouting and screaming when Malcolm pinned him down and took the bottle. Felix could see it glinting in the light, could imagine the glass breaking against his skin, bone breaking from the impact, tearing into his flesh. He had no energy left to fight.

Felix couldn’t even shut his eyes, grown accustomed to Malcolm’s furious expression, “Just get it over with.”

Felix flinched when he heard glass shatter, eyes finally shutting tight, waiting for pain but feeling _nothing_. He opened his eyes slowly, wondering if Malcolm threw the bottle into the wall. _But no_ , the bottle was still in Malcolm’s hands. His assailant wasn’t looking at him though, eyes fixated on the floor where a brick had been thrown through.

As if Felix wasn’t even there, Malcolm rushed off the bed catching _Colin_ as he tackled through the door with an animalistic snarl. Felix couldn’t believe his eyes, staring at Colin, his face purpled with bruises worse than anything he usually sustained in Square of Slaughters. No wasted movement, no hesitation, Colin held Malcolm down, fists quick and brutal as he beat his brother into submission, not giving him a second to breathe or beg.  

Prepared, Malcolm smashed the bottle over Colin’s head, glass clattering everywhere, distracting him enough before reversing their position. Barely able to scramble over, Felix threw himself off the bed, shoving Malcolm away from Colin and immediately crippling himself with pain just from the simple exertion. Felix crumpled onto the ground, groaning and quivering but regretting _nothing_.

Malcolm shoved off Felix’s hands, the broken bottle still in his hands. Colin scrambled backwards, disoriented but still able, “Stay away!” He shouted to Felix, a small smirk on his face as he looked out the door, “I got this.”

Before Malcolm could move, two suited men charged in and tackled him, pinning him to the ground cleanly. Malcolm snarled, looking up at them and freezing at the insignia on their jackets. He glared at Colin, teeth bared and vicious, “Son of a bitch!”

“Ah, ah,” Colin replied, waving a finger in the air, “Son of a _Gold_.”

On cue, the charismatic, level-headed leader of the Golds stepped in. Malcolm narrowed his eyes, seething as his eyes fell upon the _brat_ that inherited the family, “Neal.”

Neal didn’t acknowledge him, nodding his head and gesturing to his men. Three men with a stretcher came in, carrying Felix away carefully. Colin stayed behind, smirking at Malcolm, wiping away the spot of blood on his lip while Neal towered over Malcolm, making him feel pitiful and small.

“If you come back to Storybrooke,” Neal started, voice low and quiet, a pressure upon Malcolm from Neal’s raw ferocity, “The Golds will make sure you’ll regret it.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” Colin shouted, standing up and fixing his leather jacket. He gave Neal a friendly pat, pleased that his nephew turned out so strong. Leaving Malcolm to his mercy, Colin made his way over to the ambulance Neal had taken with them where Felix lay.

The medics were treating him, giving him the proper medicine he needed and diagnosing his internal damage. While they palpated his body, Colin sat on the edge of the ambulance, looking over Felix, smiling pleasantly.

“You came for me,” Felix murmured, breath hitching every time the medics found a sore spot on his body.

Colin propped himself up against the side of the ambulance, one knee up, trying to look casual, “Sorry it took so long. I needed to get reinforcements to track him down,” He refused the medic that wanted to look at the abrasion on the back of his head, gesturing for them to concentrate on Felix, “Just a scratch. Don’t worry about it,” He smirked when the medic returned to Felix but continued to examine him from afar, “They work for my oldest brother. Private doctors, paid a lot to dote on us.”  

Through the pain, even with medics prodding at him here and there, Felix was still able to smile, “Son of a Gold.”

“I knew it’d come in handy someday,” Colin replied, snickering, scratching the tip of his nose awkwardly, “Get some rest. The medics have something to put you under if you need help,” He smoothed his hair back, watching Felix and confused when he kept his eyes wide open. He could tell Felix was exhausted, could see his eyelids and fingers quivering, but he refused to sleep. Colin smiled, saying exactly what Felix wanted to hear, “I’ll still be here after you rest, yeah?”

 

Peter hadn’t seen Felix in three years.

The last time he talked to his once beloved friend, Felix was broken and tired, baring his heart and everything else to his unrequited lover. _Peter rejected him_ and Felix was utterly shattered. Peter left Storybrooke shortly after, following Wendy’s pursuit for greater education, eventually marrying her and holding the ceremony right back in Storybrooke. He didn’t invite Felix, didn’t even send an invite to his father because some part deep inside of him didn’t want to hurt Felix anymore.

He heard rumours that Felix moved in with his father, heard rumours that Felix had cut himself off from his friends. _Heard rumours that Felix was getting beaten_. It happened to his mother; Peter saw it with his own eyes. Well away from Storybrooke, helpless to save his once best friend, Peter could do little else than believe these rumours weren’t true.

Three years was a long time. Despite Peter’s natural confidence, he couldn’t hide that he was _nervous_ to see Felix again, standing outside a shabby looking apartment building, following the signs till he found apartment 311. In the middle of New York, Peter didn’t expect anything less for Felix to move into. He knocked on the door, waiting patiently as he heard shuffling from behind it.

Peter was honestly surprised when he saw another man open the door. For some reason, Peter felt like he was staring into a vision of the future, “…Felix?”

Shirtless with greasy hair, Colin was barely able to comprehend Peter’s existence through his massive hangover, “Who are you?” He mumbled, yawning loudly and smacking his lips, “Wait,” He interrupted Peter, answering his own question in his head, “You’re Peter, right?”

Peter nodded, still incredibly confused. This man looked a bit like his father, _a bit like him_ , but not quite, “Yes,” His breath hitched when the man suddenly embraced him, squeezing him in a friendly hug, “E-Excuse you!”

“It’s me, Uncle Colin!” Colin said, letting go and patting his shoulder, “God, I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’ve only seen you in photos.”

“I don’t have an Uncle Colin,” Peter mumbled, clearly remembering his father mentioning that he had one older brother.

Colin scoffed, folding his arms, “Of course. Didn’t even mention me once to you. What a dick,” He reclined against the door, absently scratching at a shallow scrape on his arm, “You’re here to see Felix, right?”

Peter nodded almost too eagerly, “Yeah. Is he here?”

“He spent last night studying pretty late. I just got drunk in the living room,” Colin said, shrugging nonchalantly, “How about we let Felix sleep in a bit and we’ll eat lunch? There’s a nice little Italian place down here,” Without waiting for Peter’s response, Colin gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and reached for the door, “Sounds good! I’ll see you at 12?”

Peter stuttered to respond, still genuinely confused that Felix was supposedly seeing his newfound uncle, “S-Sure?”

 Nodding in acknowledgement, relishing in Peter’s genuine confusion, Colin shut the door and returned to the bedroom, carefully stepping over textbooks and bartending manuals as he examined himself in the standing mirror by the window. He scratched at another scar on his abdomen, clicking his tongue at the memory of how he received this injury. At the thought, his eyes immediately fell onto Felix’s face, the terrible scrape he had received from Malcolm sealed up across his face. His battle scar, a constant reminder of that horrible period of his life.

He sat back onto his bed, cross-legged as he looked to the bed beside him where Felix lay, shuffling under the sheets. 

“Mm, Colin?” Felix mumbled, rolling around in his bed to face Colin, “Who was that?”

Colin swung his legs over the side, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched Felix sit up on his bed, “Peter was here. I told him we’d eat lunch so you could sleep in.”

In another world and another time, Felix would have been furious, would have lashed out at Colin for telling Peter off. He would have rushed out, chased after Peter desperately, clinging to his heels and his words.

Instead, Felix smiled to Colin and rolled back over, pulling the blanket over his head, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

 


End file.
